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THE GOD IN 
THE CAR 4 4 


By A 

N T H O 

N Y 

H 

OPE 

I L L 

U S T 

R A 

T 

E D 



r % ■ 







D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



TZ3 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

OCT 3 1903 

Copyright Entry 

/Jc« 

CLASS a Yxi No. 

# 7/3 3 

COPY A. 


Copyright, 1902, by 
ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS 


All rights reserved 


- .* 


Copyright, 1894, by 
D. Appleton and Company 


Q vp 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. An Insolent Memory 1 

II. The Coining of a Nickname . .14 

III. Mrs. Dennison’s Orders . . .26 

IV. Two Young Gentlemen . . .40 

V. A Telegram to Frankfort . . .54 

VI. Whose Shall It Be? . . . .69 

VII. An Attempt to Stop the Wheels . 84 

VIII. Converts and Heretics . . .99 

IX. An Oppressive Atmosphere . . .111 

X. A Lady’s Bit of Work . . . 123 

XI. Against His Coming . . . .138 

XII. It Can Wait 153 

XIII. A Spasm of Penitence . . . .165 

XIV. The Thing or the Man . . .179 

XV. The Work of a Week . . .192 

XVI. The Last Barriers .... 208 

XVII. A Sound in the Night . . . 225 

XVIII. On the Matter of a Railway . . 240 

XIX. Past Praying for .... 258 

XX. The Baron’s Contribution . . . 268 

XXI. A Joint in His Armour . . . 282 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. A Toast in Champagne . . . 299 

XXIII. The Cutting of the Knot . . .317 

XXIV. The Return of a Friend . . . 330 

XXV. The Moving Car 345 


vi 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


CHAPTER I 
AN INSOLENT MEMORY 

“ I’m so blind/’ said Miss Ferrars plaintively. 
“ Where are my glasses ? ” 

“ What do you want to see? ” asked Lord 
Semingham. 

“ The man in the corner, talking to Mr. Lor- 
ing. 

“ Oh, you won’t know him even with the 
glasses. He’s the sort of man you must be in- 
troduced to three times before there’s any chance 
of a permanent impression.” 

“You seem to recognise him.” 

“ I know him in business. We are, or rather 
are going to be, fellow-directors of a company.” 

“ Oh, then I shall see you in the dock together 
some day.” 

“ What touching faith in the public prosecu- 
tor ! Does nothing shake your optimism? ” 

“ Perhaps your witticisms.” 

“ Peace, peace ! ” 


1 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Well, who is he ? ” 

“He was once,” observed Lord Semingham, 
as though stating a curious fact, “ in a Govern- 
ment. His name is Foster Belford, and he is 
still asked to the State Concerts.” 

“ I knew I knew him ! Why, Harry Denni- 
son thinks great things of him ! ” 

“ It is possible.” 

“ And he, not to be behindhand in politeness, 
thinks greater of Maggie Dennison. ” 

“ His task is the easier.” 

“ And you and he are going to have the ef- 
frontery to ask shareholders to trust their money 
to you ? ” 

“ Oh, it isn't us ; its Ruston.” 

“ Mr. Ruston ? I’ve heard of him.” 

“ You very rarely admit that about anybody.” 

“ Moreover, I’ve met him.” 

“ He's quite coming to the front, of late, I 
know.” 

“ Is there any positive harm in being in the 
fashion? I like now and then to talk to the 
people one is obliged to talk about.” 

“ Go on,” said Lord Semingham, urbanely. 

“ But, my dear Lord Semingham — ” 

“ Hush ! Keep the truth from me, like a kind 
woman. Ah, here comes Tom Loring. How 
are you, Loring ? Where’s Dennison ? ” 

“ At the House. I ought to be there too.” 

2 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 

“ Why, of course. The place of a private sec- 
retary is by the side of — ” 

“ His chief s wife. We all know that,” inter- 
posed Adela Ferrars. 

“ When you grow old, you’ll be sorry for all 
the wicked things you’ve said,” observed Loring. 

44 Well, there’ll be nothing else to do. Where 
are you going, Lord Semingham ? ” 

44 Home.” 

44 Why?” 

44 Because I’ve done my duty. Oh, but here’s 
Dennison, and I want a word with him.” 

Lord Semingham passed on, leaving the 
other two together. 

44 Has Harry Dennison been speaking to- 
day ? ” asked Miss Ferrars. 

44 Well, he had something prepared.” 

44 He had something ! You know you write 
them.” 

Mr. Loring frowned. 

44 Yes, and I know we aren’t allowed to say 
so,” pursued Adela. 

44 It’s neither just nor kind to Dennison.” 

Miss Ferrars looked at him, her brows slightly 
raised. 

44 And you are both just and kind, really,” he 
added. 

44 And you, Mr. Loring, are a wonderful man. 
You’re not ashamed to be serious ! Oh, yes, 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


I’m annoyed — you’re quite right. I was — what- 
ever I was — on the ninth of last March, and I 
think I’m too old to be lectured.” 

Tom Loring laughed, and an instant later 
Adela followed suit. 

“I suppose it was horrid of me,” she said. 
“ Can’t we turn it round and consider it as a 
compliment to you ? ” 

Tom looked doubtful, but, before he could 
answer, Adela cried, 

“Oh, here’s Evan Haselden, and — yes — it’s 
Mr. Ruston with him.” 

As the two men entered, Mrs. Dennison rose 
from her chair. She was a tall woman; her 
years fell one or two short of thirty. She was 
not a beauty, but her broad brow and expressive 
features, joined to a certain subdued dignity of 
manner and much grace of movement, made 
her conspicuous among the women in her draw- 
ing-room. Young Evan Haselden seemed to 
appreciate her, for he bowed his glossy curly 
head and shook hands in a way that almost 
turned the greeting into a deferentially distant 
caress. Mrs. Dennison acknowledged his hinted 
homage with a bright smile, and turned to Rus- 
ton. 

“ At last 1 ” she said, with another smile. “ The 
first time after — how many years ? ” 

“ Eight, I believe,” he answered. 

4 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 


“ Oh, you’re terribly definite. And what have 
you been doing with yourself? ” 

He shrugged his square shoulders, and she did 
not press her question, but let her eyes wander 
over him. 

“ Well ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh — improved. And I ? ” 

Suddenly Ruston laughed. 

“Last time we met,” he said, “you swore 
you’d never speak to me again.” 

“ I’d quite forgotten my fearful threat.” 

He looked straight in her face for a moment, 
as he asked — 

“ And the cause of it ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison coloured. 

“ Yes, quite,” she answered ; and conscious that 
her words carried no conviction to him, she 
added hastily, “ Go and speak to Harry. There 
he is.” 

Ruston obeyed her, and being left for a mo- 
ment alone, she sat down on the chair placed 
near the door ready for her short intervals of 
rest. There was a slight pucker on her brow. 
The sight of Ruston and his question stirred in 
her thoughts which were never long dormant, 
and which his coming woke into sudden activity. 
She had not anticipated that he would venture 
to recall to her that incident — at least, not at 
once — in the first instant of meeting, at such a 
5 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

time and such a place. But as he had, she 
found herself yielding to the reminiscence he 
induced. Forgotten the cause of her anger with 
him? For the first two or three years of her 
married life, she would have answered, “ Yes, I 
have forgotten it.” Then had come a period 
when now and again it recurred to her, not for 
his sake or its own, but as a summary of her sti- 
fled feeling ; and during that period she had res- 
olutely struggled not to remember it. Of late 
that struggle had ceased, and the thing lay a 
perpetual background to her thoughts : when 
there was nothing else to think about, when the 
stage of her mind was empty of moving figures, 
it snatched at the chance of prominence, and 
thus became a recurrent consciousness from which 
her interests and her occupations could not per- 
manently rescue her. For example, here she 
was thinking of it in the very midst of her party. 
Yet this persistence of memory seemed imperti- 
nent, unreasonable, almost insolent. For, as she 
told herself, finding it necessary to tell herself 
more and more often, her husband was still all 
that he had been when he had won her heart — 
good-looking, good-tempered, infinitely kind and 
devoted. When she married she had triumphed 
confidently in these qualities; and the unani- 
mous cry of surprised congratulation at the 
match she was making had confirmed her own 
6 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 

joy and exultation in it. It had been a great 
match ; and yet, beyond all question, also a love 
match. 

But now the chorus of wondering applause 
was forgotten, and there remained only the one 
voice which had been raised to break the har- 
mony of approbation — a voice that nobody, her- 
self least of all, had listened to then. How should 
it be listened to? It came from a nobody — a 
young man of no account, whose opinion none 
cared to ask ; whose judgment, had it been worth 
anything in itself, lay under suspicion of being 
biassed by jealousy. Willie Ruston had never 
declared himself her suitor ; yet (she clung hard 
to this) he would not have said what he did had 
not the chagrin of a defeated rival inspired him ; 
and a defeated rival, as everybody knows, will say 
anything. Certainly she had been right not to 
listen, and was wrong to remember. To this she 
had often made up her mind, and to this she re- 
turned now as she sat watching her husband and 
Willie Ruston, forgetful of all the chattering 
crowd beside. 

As to what it was she resolved not to remem- 
ber, and did remember, it was just one sentence — 
his only comment on the news of her engage- 
ment, his only hint of any opinion or feeling 
about it. It was short, sharp, decisive, and, as his 
judgments were even in the days when he, alone 
7 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


of all the world, held them of any moment, ab- 
solutely confident ; it was also, she had felt on 
hearing it, utterly untrue, unjust, and ungenerous. 
It had rung out like a pistol-shot, “Maggie, 
you’re marrying a fool, ” and then a snap of tight- 
fitting lips, a glance of scornful eyes, and a quick 
unhesitating stride away that hardly waited for a 
contemptuous smile at her angry cry, “ I’ll never 
speak to you again.” She had been in a fury of 
wrath — she had a power of wrath — that a plain, 
awkward, penniless, and obscure youth — one 
whom she sometimes disliked for his arrogance, 
and sometimes derided for his self-confidence — 
should dare to say such a thing about her Harry, 
whom she was so proud to love, and so proud to 
have won. It was indeed an insolent memory 
that flung the thing again and again in her teeth. 

The party began to melt away. The first 
good-bye roused Mrs. Dennison from her envel- 
oping reverie. Lady Valentine, from whom it 
came, lingered for a gush of voluble confidences 
about the charm of the house, and the people, 
and the smart little band that played softly in an 
alcove, and what not; her daughter stood by, 
learning, it is to be hoped, how it is meet to be- 
have in society, and scanning Evan Haselden’s 
trim figure with wary critical glances, alert to 
turn aside if he should glance her way. Mrs. 
Dennison returned the ball of civility, and, re- 
8 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 


leased by several more departures, joined Adela 
Ferrars. Adela stood facing Haselden and Tom 
Loring, who were arm-in-arm. At the other end 
of the room Harry Dennison and Ruston were 
still in conversation. 

“ These men , Maggie,” began Adela — and it 
seemed a mere caprice of pronunciation that the 
word did not shape itself into “ monkeys ” — “ are 
the absurdest creatures. They say I’m not fit to 
take part in politics ! And why ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison shook her head, and smiled. 

“ Because, if you please, I’m too emotional. 
Emotional, indeed ! And I can’t generalise ! 
Oh, couldn’t I generalise about men ! ” 

“ Women can never say ‘No,’” observed 
Evan Haselden, not in the least as if he were re- 
peating a commonplace. 

“ You’ll find you’re wrong when you grow up,” 
retorted Adela. 

“I doubt that,” said Mrs. Dennison, with the 
kindest of smiles. 

“ Maggie, you spoil the boy. Isn’t it enough 
that he should have gone straight from the 
fourth form — where, I suppose, he learnt to gen- 
eralise — ” 

“ At any rate, not to be emotional,” murmured 
Loring. 

“Into Parliament, without having his head 
turned by — ” 


9 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“You’d better go, Evan,” suggested Loring 
in a warning tone. 

“ I shall go too, ” announced Adela. 

“ I’m walking your way,” said Evan, who 
seemed to bear no malice. 

“ How delightful!” 

“ You don’t object ? ” 

“Not the least. I’m driving.” 

“ A mere schoolboy score ! ” 

“ How stupid of me! You haven’t had time 
to forget them.” 

“ Oh, take her away,” said Mrs. Dennison, and 
they disappeared in a fire of retorts, happy, or 
happy enough for happy people, and probably 
Evan drove with the lady after all. 

Mrs. Dennison walked towards where her 
husband and Ruston sat on a sofa in talk. 

“What are you two conspiring about ?” she 
asked. 

“ Ruston had something to say to me about 
business.” 

“What! already?” 

“ Oh, we’ve met in the city, Mrs. Dennison,” ex- 
plained Ruston, with a confidential nod to Harry. 

“ And that was the object of your appearance 
here to-day ? I was flattering my party, it 
seems.” 

“No. I didn’t expect to find your husband. 
I thought he would be at the House. ” 

10 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 


“ Ah, Harry, how did the speech go ? ” 

“Oh, really, pretty well, I think,” answered 
Harry Dennison, with a contented air. “ I got 
nearly half through before we were counted out.” 

A very faint smile showed on his wife’s face. 

“ So you were counted out ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, or I shouldn’t be here.” 

“You see, I am acquitted, Mrs. Dennison. 
Only an accident brought him here.” 

“An accident impossible to foresee,” she ac- 
quiesced, with the slightest trace of bitterness — 
so slight that her husband did not notice it. 

Ruston rose. 

“ Well, you’d better talk to Semingham about 
it,” he remarked to Harry Dennison ; “he’s one 
of us, you know.” 

“Yes, I will. And I’ll just get you that 
pamphlet of mine ; you can put it in your 
pocket.” 

He ran out of the room to fetch what he 
promised. Mrs. Dennison, still faintly smiling, 
held out her hand to Ruston. 

“ It’s been very pleasant to see you again,’ 
she said graciously. “ I hope it won’t be eight 
years before our next meeting.” 

“ Oh, no; you see I’m floating now.” 

“ Floating ? ” she repeated, with a smile of en- 
quiry. 

“Yes; on the surface. I’ve been in the 
11 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


depths till very lately, and there one meets no 
good society.” 

44 Ah ! You’ve had a struggle ? ” 

44 Yes,” he answered, laughing; 44 you may call 
it a bit of a struggle.” 

She looked at him with grave, curious eyes. 

44 And you’re not married? ” she asked abruptly. 

4 4 No, I’m glad to say.” 

44 Why glad, Mr. Ruston ? Some people like 
being married.” 

44 Oh, I don’t claim to be above it, Mrs. Denni- 
son,” he answered with a laugh, 44 but a wife 
would have been a great hindrance to me all 
these years.” 

There was a simple and bona fide air about his 
statement; it was not raillery; and Mrs. Denni- 
son laughed in her turn. 

44 Oh, how like you ! ” she murmured. 

Mr. Ruston, with a passing gleam of surprise 
at her merriment, bade her a very unemotional 
farewell, and left her. She sat down and waited 
idly for her husband’s return. Presently he came 
in. He had caught Ruston in the hall, delivered 
his pamphlet, and was whistling cheerfully. He 
took a chair near his wife. 

44 Rum chap that ! ” he said. 44 But he’s got a 
good deal of stuff in him ; ” and he resumed his 
lively tune. 

The tune annoyed Mrs. Dennison. To suffer 
12 


AN INSOLENT MEMORY 


whistling without visible offence was one of her 
daily trials. Harry’s emotions and reflections 
were prone to express themselves through that 
medium. 

“I didn’t do half-badly, to-day,” said Harry, 
breaking off again. “ Old Tom had got it all 
splendidly in shape for me — by Jove, I don’t 
know what I should do without Tom — and I 
think I put it pretty well. But, of course, it’s 
a subject that doesn’t catch on with everybody.” 

It was the dullest subject in the world; it was 
also, in all likelihood, one of the most unimpor- 
tant ; and dull subjects are so seldom unimportant 
that the perversity of the combination moved 
Maggie Dennison to a wondering pity. She rose 
and came behind the chair where her husband 
sat. Leaning over the back, she rested her 
elbows on his shoulders, and lightly clasped her 
hands round his neck. He stopped his whistle, 
which had grown soft and contented, laughed, 
and kissed one of the encircling hands, and she, 
bending lower, kissed him on the forehead as he 
turned his face up to look at her. 

“ You poor dear old thing ! ” she said, with a 
smile and a sigh. 


2 


13 


CHAPTER II 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 

When it was no later than the middle of June, 
Adela Ferrars, having her reputation to main- 
tain, ventured to sum up the season. It was, 
she said, a Ruston- cum- Violetta season. Vio- 
letta’s doings and unexampled triumphs have, 
perhaps luckily, no place here ; her dancing was 
higher and her songs more surpassing in another 
dimension than those of any performer who had 
hitherto won the smiles of society; and young 
men who are getting on in life still talk about 
her. Ruston’s fame was less widespread, but 
his appearance was an undeniable fact of the 
year. When a man, the first five years of whose 
adult life have been spent on a stool in a coal 
merchant’s office, and the second five some- 
where (an absolutely vague somewhere) in 
Southern or Central Africa, comes before the 
public, offering in one closed hand a new em- 
pire, or, to avoid all exaggeration, at least a 
province, asking with the other opened hand for 
three million pounds, the public is bound to 
afford him the tribute of some curiosity. When 
14 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 


he enlists in his scheme men of eminence like 
Mr. Foster Belford, of rank like Lord Seming- 
ham, of great financial resources like Dennison 
Sons & Company, he becomes one whom it is 
expedient to bid to dinner and examine with 
scrutinising enquiry. He may have a bag of 
gold for you ; or you may enjoy the pleasure of 
exploding his prestige ; at least, you are timely 
and up-to-date, and none can say that your 
house is a den of fogies, or yourself, in the lan- 
guage made to express these things (for how 
otherwise should they get themselves expressed?) 
on other than “ the inner rail.” 

It chanced that Miss Ferrars arrived early at 
the Seminghams, and she talked with her host 
on the hearth-rug, while Lady Semingham was 
elaborately surveying her small but comely per- 
son in a mirror at the other end of the long 
room. Lord Semingham was rather short and 
rather stout ; he hardly looked as if his ancestors 
had fought at Hastings — perhaps they had not, 
though the peerage said they had. He wore 
close-cut black whiskers, and the blue of his 
jowl witnessed a suppressed beard of great 
vitality. His single eye-glass reflected answer- 
ing twinkles to Adela's pince-nez, and his mouth 
was puckered at the world’s constant entertain- 
ment; men said that he found his wife alone a 
sufficient and inexhaustible amusement. 

15 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 The Heathers are coming,” he said, “and 
Lady Val and Marjory, and young Haselden, 
and Ruston.” 

44 Toujour s Ruston,” murmured Adela. 

44 And one or two more. What’s wrong with 
Ruston ? There is, my dear Adela, no attitude 
more offensive than that of indifference to what 
the common herd finds interesting.” 

44 He’s a fright,” said Adela. “You’d spike 
yourself on that bristly beard of his.” 

44 If you happened to be near enough, you 
mean? — a danger my sex and our national habits 
render remote. Bessie ! ” 

Lady Semingham came towards them, with 
one last craning look at her own back as she 
turned. She always left the neighbourhood of a 
mirror with regret. 

44 Well? ” she asked with a patient little sigh. 

44 Adela is abusing your friend Ruston.” 

44 He’s not my friend, Alfred. What’s the 
matter, Adela ? ” 

“ I don’t think I like him. He’s hard.” 

44 He’s got a demon, you see,” said Seming- 
ham. 4 4 For that matter we all have, but his is 
a whopper.” 

44 Oh, what’s my demon ? ” cried Adela. 44 Is 
not oneself always the most interesting subject ?” 

44 Yours ? Cleverness; he goads you into say- 
ing things one can’t see the meaning of.” 

16 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 


“ Thanks ! And yours ? ” 

“ Grinning — so I grin at your things, though 
I don’t understand ’em.” 

“ And Bessie’s? ” 

“ Oh, forgive me. Leave us a quiet home.” 

“ And now, Mr. Ruston’s ? ” 

“ His is — ” 

But the door opened, and the guests, all 
arriving in a heap, just twenty minutes late, 
flooded the room and drowned the topic. An- 
other five minutes passed, and people had begun 
furtively to count heads and wonder whom they 
were waiting for, when Evan Haselden was 
announced. Hot on his heels came Ruston, 
and the party was completed. 

Mr. Otto Heather took Adela Ferrars in to 
dinner. Her heart sank as he offered his arm. 
She had been heard to call him the silliest man 
in Europe ; on the other hand, his wife, and 
some half-dozen people besides, thought him 
the cleverest in London. 

“That man,” he said, swallowing his soup 
and nodding his head towards Ruston, “per- 
sonifies all the hideous tendencies of the age — 
its brutality, its commercialism, its selfishness, 
its—” 

Miss Ferrars looked across the table. Ruston 
was seated at Lady Semingham’s left hand, and 
she was prattling to him in her sweet indistinct 
17 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


little voice. Nothing in his appearance war- 
ranted Heather’s outburst, unless it were a sort 
of alert and almost defiant readiness, smacking 
of a challenge to catch him napping. 

“ I’m not a mediae valist myself,” she observed, 
and prepared to endure the penalty of an expose 
of Heather’s theories. During its progress, she 
peered — for her near sight was no affectation — 
now and again at the occasion of her sufferings. 
She had heard a good deal about him — some- 
thing from her host, something from Harry 
Dennison, more from the paragraphists who had 
scented their prey, and gathered from the four 
quarters of heaven (or wherever they dwelt) 
upon him. She knew about the coal merchant’s 
office, the impatient flight from it, and the rush 
over seas ; there were stories of real naked want, 
where a bed and shelter bounded for the mo- 
ment all a life’s aspirations. She summed him 
up as a buccaneer modernised; and one does 
not expect buccaneers to be amiable, while cul- 
ture in them would be an incongruity. It was, 
on the whole, not very surprising, she thought, 
that few people liked William Roger Ruston — 
nor that many believed in him. 

“Don’t you agree with me?” asked Heather. 

“Not in the least,” said Adela at random. 

The odds that he had been saying something 
foolish were very large. 

18 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 


“ I thought you were such friends ! ” exclaimed 
Heather in surprise. 

“Well, to confess, I was thinking of some- 
thing else. Who do you mean ? ” 

“Why, Mrs. Dennison. I was saying that 
her calm queenly manner — ” 

“ Good gracious, Mr. Heather, don’t call 
women 4 queenly.’ You’re like — what is it? — 
a 4 dime novel.’ ” 

If this comparison were meant to relieve her 
from the genius’ conversation for the rest of 
dinner, it was admirably conceived. He turned 
his shoulder on her in undisguised dudgeon. 

44 And how’s the great scheme ? ” asked some- 
body of Ruston. 

44 We hope to get the money,” he said, turning 
for a moment from his hostess. 44 And if we do 
that, we’re all right.” 

44 Everything’s going on very well,” called 
Semingham from the foot of the table. 44 They’ve 
killed a missionary.” 

How dreadful ! ” lisped his wife. 

44 Regrettable in itself, but the first step tow- 
ards empire,” explained Semingham with a 
smile. 

44 It’s to stop things of that kind that we are 
going there,” Mr. Belford pronounced ; the 
speech was evidently meant to be repeated, and 
to rank as authoritative. 

19 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Of course,” chuckled Semingham. 

If he had been a shopman, he could not have 
resisted showing his customers how the adulter- 
ation was done. 

In spite of herself — for she strongly objected 
to being one of an admiring crowd, and liked a 
personal cachet on her emotions — Adela felt 
pleasure when, after dinner, Ruston came straight 
to her and, displacing Evan Haselden, sat down 
by her side. He assumed the position with a 
business-like air, as though he meant to stay. 
She often, indeed habitually, had two or three 
men round her, but to-night none contested 
Ruston’s exclusive possession; she fancied that 
the business-like air had something to do with 
it. She had been taken possession of, she said 
to herself, with a little impatience and yet a little 
pleasure also. 

“You know everybody here, I suppose?” he 
asked. His tone cast a doubt on the value of 
the knowledge. 

“It’s my tenth season,” said Adela, with a 
laugh. “I stopped counting them once, but 
there comes a time when one has to begin 
again.” 

He looked at her — critically, she thought, as 
he said, 

“ The ravages of time no longer to be ig- 
nored ? ” 


20 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 


“Well, the exaggerations of friends to be 
checked. Yes, I suppose I know most of — ” 

She paused for a word. 

“ The gang,” he suggested, leaning back and 
crossing his legs. 

“Yes, we are a gang, and all on one chain. 
You’re a recent captive, though.” 

“Yes,” he assented, 4 ‘it’s pretty new to me. 
A year ago I hadn’t a dress coat.” 

“The gods are giving you a second youth then.” 

“Well, I take it. I don’t know that I have 
much to thank the gods for.” 

“ They’ve been mostly against you, haven’t 
they ? However, what does that matter, if you 
beat them ? ” 

He did not disclaim her compliment, but 
neither did he accept it. He ignored it, and 
Adela, who paid very few compliments, was 
amused and vexed. 

“Perhaps,” she added, “you think your vic- 
tory still incomplete ? ” 

This gained no better attention. Mr. Huston 
seemed to be following his own thoughts. 

“ It must be a curious thing,” he remarked, 
“to be born to a place like Semingham’s.” 

“ And to use it — or not to use it — like Lord 
Semingham ? ” 

“Yes, I was thinking that,” he admitted. 

“ To be eminent requires some self-deception, 
21 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


doesn’t it ? Without that, it would seem too 
absurd. I think Lord Semingham is over- 
weighted with humour.” She paused and then 
• — to show that she was not in awe of him — she 
added, — “Now, I should say, you have very 
little.” 

44 Very little indeed, I should think,” he agreed, 
composedly. 

44 You’re the only man I ever heard admit that 
of himself; we all say it of one another.” 

44 1 know what I have and haven’t got pretty 
well.” 

Adela was beginning to be more sure that she 
disliked him, but the topic had its interest for 
her and she went on, 

44 Now I like to think I’ve got everything.” 

To her annoyance, the topic seemed to lose 
interest for him, just in proportion as it gained 
interest for her. In fact, Mr. Ruston did not 
apparently care to talk about what she liked or 
didn’t like. 

44 Who’s that pretty girl over there, ” he asked, 
44 talking to young Haselden ? ” 

44 Marjory Valentine,” said Adela curtly. 

44 Oh ! I think I should like to talk to her.” 

“Pray, don’t let me prevent you,” said Adela 
in very distant tones. 

The man seemed to have no manners. 

Mr. Ruston said nothing, but gave a short 
22 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 


laugh. Adela was not accustomed to be laughed 
at openly. . Yet she felt defenceless; this pachy- 
dermatous animal would be impervious to the 
pricks of her rapier. 

“ You’re amused ? ” she asked sharply. 

“ Why were you in such a hurry to take of- 
fence? 1 didn’t say I wanted to go and talk to 
her now.” 

“ It sounded like it.” 

“ Oh, well, I’m very sorry,” he conceded, still 
smiling, and obviously thinking her very absurd. 

She rose from her seat. 

“ Please do, though. She’ll be going soon, 
and you mayn’t get another chance.” 

“ Well, I will then,” he answered simply, ac- 
companying the remark with a nod of approval 
for her sensible reminder. And he went at 
once. 

She saw him touch Haselden on the shoulder, 
and make the young man present him to Mar- 
jory. Ruston sat down, and Haselden drifted, 
aimless and forlorn, on a solitary passage along 
the length of the room. 

Adela joined Lady Semingham. 

“That’s a dreadful man, Bessie,” she said; 
“ he’s a regular Juggernaut.” 

She disturbed Lady Semingham in a moment 
of happiness ; everybody had been provided with 
conversation, and the hostess could sit in peace- 
23 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


ful silence, looking, and knowing that she looked, 
very dainty and pretty; she liked that much 
better than talking. 

44 Who’s what, dear? ” she murmured. 

44 That man — Mr. Ruston. I say he’s a Jug- 
gernaut. If you’re in the way, he just walks 
over you — and sometimes when you’re not : for 
fun, I suppose.” 

“Alfred says he’s very clever,” observed Lady 
Semingham, in a tone that evaded any personal 
responsibility for the truth of the statement. 

44 Well, I dislike him very much,” declared 
Adela. 

44 We won’t have him again when you’re 
coming, dear,” promised her friend soothingly. 

Adela looked at her, hesitated, opened her fan, 
shut it again, and smiled. 

44 Oh, I didn’t mean that, Bessie,” she said 
with half a laugh. 44 Do, please.” 

44 But if you dislike him — ” 

44 Why, my dear, doesn’t one hate half the 
men one likes meeting — and all the women ! ” 

Lady Semingham smiled amiably. She did 
not care to think out what that meant; it was 
Adela’s way, just as it was her husband’s way to 
laugh at many things that seemed to her to af- 
ford no opening for mirth. But Adela was not 
to escape. Semingham himself appeared sud- 
denly at her elbow, and observed, 

24 


THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 

“ Chat s either nonsense or a truism, you 
know.” 

“Neither, said Adela with spirit; but her 
defence was interrupted by Evan Haselden. 

“I’m going,” said he, and he looked out of 
temper. “I’ve got another place to go to. 
And anyhow — ” 

“Well?” 

“I’d like to be somewhere where that chap 
Ruston isn’t for a little while.” 

Adela glanced across. Ruston was still talk- 
ing to Marjory Valentine. 

“ What can he find to say to her ? ” thought 
Adela. 

“ What the deuce she finds to talk about to 
that fellow, I can’t think,” pursued Evan, and 
he flung off to bid Lady Semingham good- 
night. 

Adela caught her host’s eye and laughed. 
Lord Semingham’s eyes twinkled. 

“It’s a big province,” he observed, “so there 
may be room for him — out there.” 

“I,” said Adela, with an air of affected mod- 
esty, “have ventured, subject to your criticism, 
to dub him Juggernaut.” 

“ H’m,” said Semingham, “ it’s a little obvi- 
ous, but not so bad for you.” 


25 


CHAPTER III 


MRS. DENNISON’S ORDERS 

Next door to Mrs. Dennison’s large house in 
Curzon Street there lived, in a small house, a 
friend of hers, a certain Mrs. Cormack. She was 
a Frenchwoman, who had been married to an 
Englishman, and was now his most resigned 
widow. She did not pretend to herself, or to 
anybody else, that Mr. Cormack’s death had 
been a pure misfortune, and by virtue of her 
past trials — perhaps, also, of her nationality — 
she was keenly awake to the seamy side of mat- 
rimony. She would rhapsodise on the joys of an 
ideal marriage, with a skilful hint of its rarity, 
and condemn transgressors with a charitable res- 
ervation for insupportable miseries. She was, 
she said, very romantic. Tom Loring, however 
(whose evidence was tainted by an intense dis- 
like of her), declared that affaires du cceur inter- 
ested her only when one at least of the parties 
was lawfully bound to a third person; when 
both were thus trammelled, the situation was 
ideal. But the loves of those who were in a 
position to marry one another, and had no par- 
26 


MRS. DENNISON S ORDERS 


ticular reason for not following that legitimate 
path to happiness, seemed to her (still according 
to Tom) dull, uninspiring — all, in fact, that there 
was possible of English and stupid. She hardly 
(Tom would go on, warming to his subject) be- 
lieved in them at all, and she was in the habit of 
regarding wedlock merely as a condition prece- 
dent to its own violent dissolution. Whether 
this unhappy mode of looking at the matter 
were due to her own peculiarities, or to those of 
the late Mr. Cormack, or to those of her nation, 
Tom did not pretend to say ; he confined himself 
to denouncing it freely, and to telling Mrs. Den- 
nison that her next-door neighbour was in all 
respects a most undesirable acquaintance; at 
which outbursts Mrs. Dennison would smile. 

Mrs. Dennison, coming out on to the balcony 
to see if her carriage were in sight down the 
street, found her friend close to her elbow. Their 
balconies adjoined, and friendship had led to a 
little gate being substituted for the usual dwarf- 
wall of division. Tom Loring erected the gate 
into an allegory of direful portent. Mrs. Cor- 
mack passed through it, and laid an affectionate 
grasp on Maggie Dennison’s arm. 

“You’re starting early,” she remarked. 

“ I’m going a long way — right up to Hamp- 
stead. I’ve promised Harry to call on some 
people there.” 


27 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“Ah ! Who?” 

“ Their name's Carlin. He knows Mr. Carlin 
in business. Mr. Carlins a friend of Mr. Rus- 
ton’s.” 

4 6 Oh, of Ruston’s ? I like that Ruston. He 
is interesting — inspiring." 

44 Is he ? ” said Mrs. Dennison, buttoning her 
glove. 44 You’d better marry him, Berthe.” 

44 Marry him? No, indeed. I think he would 
beat one." 

44 Is that being inspiring? I’m glad Harry’s 
not inspiring.” 

44 Oh, you know what I mean. He’s a man 
who—” 

Mrs. Cormack threw up her arms as though 
praying for the inspired word. Mrs. Dennison 
did not wait for it. 

44 There’s the carriage. Good-bye, dear," she 
said. 

Mrs. Dennison started with a smile on her 
face. Berthe was so funny ; she was like a page 
out of a French novel. She loved anything not 
quite respectable, and peopled the world with 
heroes of loose morals and overpowering wills. 
She adored a dominating mind and lived in 
the discovery of affinities. What nonsense it 
all was — so very remote from the satisfactory 
humdrum of real life. One kept house, and 
gave dinners, and made the children happy, and 
28 


MRS. DENNISON S ORDERS 


was fond of one’s husband, and life passed most — 
Here Mrs. Dennison suddenly yawned, and fell 
to hoping that the Carlins would not be oppres- 
sively dull. She had been bored all day long; 
the children had been fretful, and poor Harry 
was hurt and in low spirits because of a cruel 
caricature in a comic paper, and Tom Loring 
had scolded her for laughing at the caricature (it 
hit Harry off so exactly), and nobody had come 
to see her, except a wretch who had once been 
her kitchen-maid, and had come to terrible grief, 
and wanted to be taken back, and of course 
couldn’t be, and had to be sent away in tears 
with a sovereign, and the tears were no use and 
the sovereign not much. 

The Carlins fortunately proved tolerably in- 
teresting in their own way. Carlin was about 
fifty-five — an acute man of business, it seemed, 
and possessed by an unwavering confidence in 
the abilities of Willie Ruston. Mrs. Carlin was 
ten or fifteen years younger than her husband — 
a homely little woman, with a swarm of children. 
Mrs. Dennison wondered how they all fitted into 
the small house, but was told that it was larger 
by two good rooms than their old dwelling in 
the country town, whence Willie had summoned 
them to take a hand in his schemes. Willie 
had not insisted on the coal business being 
altogether abandoned — as Mrs. Carlin said, with 

3 29 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


a touch of timidity, it was well to have some- 
thing to fall back upon — but he required most 
of Carlin’s time now, and the added work made 
residence in London a necessity. In spite of 
Mr. Carlin’s air of hard-headedness, and his 
wife’s prudent recognition of the business aspect 
of life, they neither of them seemed to have a 
will of their own. Willie — as they both called 
him — was the Providence, and the mixture of 
reverence and familiarity presented her old 
acquaintance in a new light to Maggie Denni- 
son. Even the children prattled about “Willie,” 
and their mother’s rebukes made “ Mr. Ruston ” 
no more than a strange and transitory effort. 
Mrs. Dennison wondered what there was in the 
man — consulting her own recollections of him 
in hope of enlightenment. 

“ He takes such broad views,” said Carlin, and 
seemed to find this characteristic the sufficient 
justification for his faith. 

“ I used to know him very well, you know,” 
remarked Mrs. Dennison, anxious to reach a 
more friendly footing, and realising that to 
connect herself with Ruston offered the best 
chance of it. “ I daresay he’s spoken of me — of 
Maggie Sherwood ? ” 

They thought not, though Willie had been in 
Carlin’s employ at the time when he and Mrs. 
Dennison parted. She was even able, by com- 
30 


MRS. DENNISONS ORDERS 


parison of dates, to identify the holiday in which 
that scene had occurred and that sentence been 
spoken ; but he had never mentioned her name. 
She very much doubted whether he had even 
thought of her. The fool and the fool’s wife 
had both been dismissed from his mind. She 
frowned impatiently. Why should it be any- 
thing to her if they had ? 

There was a commotion among the children, 
starting from one who was perched on the 
window-sill. Ruston himself was walking up to 
the door, dressed in a light suit and a straw hat. 
After the greetings, while all were busy getting 
him tea, he turned to Mrs. Dennison. 

“ This is very kind of you,” he said in an un- 
dertone. 

“ My husband wished me to come,” she re- 
plied. 

He seemed in good spirits. He laughed, as 
he answered, 

“ W ell, I didn’t suppose you came to please 
me.” 

“You spoke as if you did,” said she, still 
trying to resent his tone, which she thought a 
better guide to the truth than his easy dis- 
claimer. 

“ Why, you never did anything to please 
me!” 

“ Did you ever ask me ? ” she retorted. 

31 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Well, now, I don’t believe I ever did; but 
I — ” 

Mrs. Carlin interposed with a proffered cup of 
tea, and he broke off. 

“ Thanks, Mrs. Carlin. I say, Carlin, it’s going 
first-rate. Your husband’s help’s simply invalu- 
able, Mrs. Dennison.” 

“ Harry? ” she said, in a tone that she regretted 
a moment later, for there was a passing gleam in 
Ruston’s eye before he answered gravely, 

“ His firm carries great weight. Well, we’re 
all in it here, sink or swim ; aren’t we, Carlin ? ” 

Carlin nodded emphatically, and his wife gave 
an anxious little sigh. 

“ And what’s to be the end of it ? ” asked Mrs. 
Dennison. 

“ Ten per cent.,” said Carlin, with conviction. 
He could not have spoken with more utter satis- 
faction of the millennium. 

“ The end ? ” echoed Ruston. “ Oh, I don’t 
know.” 

“ At least he won’t say,” said Carlin admir- 
ingly- 

Mrs. Dennison rose to go, engaging the 
Carlins to dine with her — an invitation accepted 
with some nervousness, until the extension of it 
to Ruston gave them a wing to come under. 
Ruston, with that directness of his that shamed 
mere dexterity and superseded tact, bade Car- 
32 


MRS. DENNISON’S ORDERS 


lin stay where he was, and himself escorted 
the visitor to her carriage. Half-way down the 
garden walk she looked up at him and re- 
marked, 

“ I expect you’re the end.” 

His eyes had been wandering, but they came 
back sharply to hers. 

“ Then don’t tell anybody,” said he lightly. 

She did not know whether what he said 
amounted to a confession or were merely a 
jest. The next moment he was off at a tangent. 

“I like your friend Miss Ferrars. She says 
a lot of sharp things, and now and then some- 
thing sensible.” 

“ Now and then ! Poor Adela ! ” 

“ W ell, she doesn’t often try. Besides, she’s 
handsome.” 

“ Oh, you’ve found time to notice that ? ” 

“ I notice that first,” said Mr. Ruston. 

They were at the carriage-door. 

“ I’m not dressed properly, so I mustn’t drive 
with you,” he said. 

“ Supposing that was the only reason,” she 
replied, smiling, “ would it stop you ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

-Why?” 

- Because of other fools.” 

“ I’ll take you as far as Regent’s Park. The 
other fools are on the other side of that.” 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“I’ll chance so far,” and, waving his hand 
vaguely towards the house, he got in. It did 
not seem to occur to him that there was any want 
of ceremony in his farewell to the Carlins. 

44 I suppose,” she said, 44 you think most of us 
fools?” 

“I’ve been learning to think it less and to 
show it less still.” 

“You’re not much changed, though.” 

“ I’ve had some of my corners chipped off by 
collision with other hard substances.” 

“ Thank you for that 4 other ’ ! ” cried Mrs. 
Dennison, with a little laugh. “ They must have 
been very hard ones.” 

“ I didn’t say that they weren’t a little bit in- 
jured too.” 

“ Poor things ! I should think so.” 

“ I have my human side.” 

“ Generally the other side, isn’t it?” she asked, 
with a merry glance. 

The talk had suddenly become very pleasant. 
He laughed, and stopped the carriage. A sigh 
escaped from Mrs. Dennison. 

44 Next time,” he said, 44 we’ll talk about you, 
or Miss Ferrars, or that little Miss Marjory Val- 
entine, not about me. Good-bye,” and he was 
gone before she could say a word to him. 

But it was natural that she should think a lit- 
tle about him. She had not, she said to herself 
34 


MRS. DENNISON S ORDERS 

with a weary smile, too many interesting things 
to think about, and she began to find him decid- 
edly interesting ; in which fact again she found a 
certain strangeness and some material for reflec- 
tion, because she recollected very well that as a 
girl she had not found him very attractive. Per- 
haps she demanded then more colouring of ro- 
mance than he had infused into their intercourse ; 
she had indeed suspected him of suppressed ro- 
mance, but the suppression had been very thor- 
ough, betraying itself only doubtfully here and 
there, as in his judgment of her accepted suitor. 
Moreover, let his feelings then have been what 
they might, he was not, she felt sure, the man to 
cherish a fruitless love for eight or nine years, or 
to suffer any resurrection of expired emotions on 
a renewed encounter with an old flame. He 
buried his dead too deep for that ; if they were 
in the way, she could fancy him sometimes shov- 
elling the earth over them and stamping it down 
without looking too curiously whether life were 
actually extinct or only flickering towards its 
extinction ; if it were not quite gone at the be- 
ginning of the gravedigger’s work, it would be 
at the end, and the result was the same. Nor 
did she suppose that ghosts gibbered or clanked 
in the orderly trim mansions of his brain. In 
fact, she was to him a more or less pleasant ac- 
quaintance, sandwiched in his mind between 
35 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Adela Ferrars and Marjory Valentine — with 
something attractive about her, though she 
might lack the sparkle of the one and had been 
robbed of the other’s youthful freshness. This 
was the conclusion which she called upon her- 
self to draw as she drove back from Hampstead 
— the plain and sensible conclusion. Yet, as 
she reached Curzon Street, there was a smile 
on her face ; and the conclusion was hardly such 
as to make her smile — unless indeed she had 
added to it the reflection that it is ill judging of 
things till they are finished. Her acquaintance 
with Willie Ruston was not ended yet. 

“ Maggie, Maggie ! ” cried her husband through 
the open door of his study as she passed upstairs. 
“ Great news ! Were to go ahead. We settled 
it at the meeting this morning.” 

Harry Dennison was in exuberant spirits. 
The great company was on the verge of actual 
existence. From the chrysalis of its syndicate 
stage it was to issue a bright butterfly. 

“ And Ruston was most complimentary to our 
house. He said he could never have carried it 
through without us. He’s in high feather.” 

Mrs. Dennison listened to more details, think- 
ing, as her husband talked, that Ruston’s cheerful 
mood was fully explained, but wondering that he 
had not himself thought it worth while to explain 
to her the cause of it a little more fully. With 
36 


MRS. DENNISONS ORDERS 


that achievement fresh in his hand, he had been 
content to hold his peace. Did he think her not 
worth telling ? 

With a cloud on her brow and her smile 
eclipsed, she passed on to the drawing-room. 
The window was open and she saw Tom Loring’s 
back in the balcony. Then she heard her friend 
Mrs. Cormack’s rather shrill voice. 

“Not say such things?” the voice cried, and 
Mrs. Dennison could picture the whirl of expos- 
tulatory hands that accompanied the question. 
“ But why not ? ” 

Tom’s voice answered in the careful tones of a 
man who is trying not to lose his temper, or, 
anyhow, to conceal the loss. 

“ Well, apart from anything else, suppose Den- 
nison heard you? It wouldn’t be over-pleasant 
for him.” 

Mrs. Dennison stood still, slowly peeling off 
her gloves. 

“ Oh, the poor man ! I would not like to hurt 
him. I will be silent. Oh, he does his very best ! 
But you can’t help it.” 

Mrs. Dennison stepped a yard nearer the 
window. 

“ Help what? ” asked Tom in the deepest ex- 
asperation, no longer to be hidden. 

“ Why, what must happen ? It must be that 
the true man — ” 


37 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


A smile flickered over Maggie Dennison’s 
face. How like Berthe ! But whence came this 
topic ? 

“Nonsense, I tell you!” cried Tom with a 
stamp of his foot. 

And at the sound Mrs. Dennison smiled again, 
and drew yet nearer to the window. 

“ Oh, it’s always nonsense what I say ! W ell, 
we shall see, Mr. Loring,” and Mrs. Cormack 
tripped in through her window, and wrote in her 
diary — she kept a diary full of reflections — that 
Englishmen were all stupid. She had written 
that before, but the deep truth bore repetition. 

Tom went in too, and found himself face to 
face with Mrs. Dennison. Bright spots of colour 
glowed on her cheeks ; had she answered the 
question of the origin of the topic ? Tom blushed 
and looked furtively at her. 

“ So the great scheme is launched,” she re- 
marked, “ and Mr. Ruston triumphs ! ” 

Tom’s manner betrayed intense relief, but he 
was still perturbed. 

“ Were having a precious lot of Ruston,” he 
observed, leaning against the mantelpiece and 
putting his hands in his pockets. 

“/like him,” said Maggie Dennison. 

“ Those are the orders, are they ? ” asked Tom 
with a rather wry smile. 

“Yes,” she answered, smiling at Tom’s smile. 

38 


MRS. DENNISON S ORDERS 

It amused her when he put her manner into 
words. 

“Then we all like him,” said Tom, and, feel- 
ing quite secure now, he added, “ Mrs. Cormack 
said we should, which is rather against him. ’ ’ 
“Oh, Berthe’s a silly woman. Never mind 
her. Harry likes him too.” 

“ Lucky for Ruston he does. Your husband’s 
a useful friend. I fancy most of Ruston ’s 
friends are of the useful variety. ’ ’ 

“And why shouldn’t we be useful to him ? ” 

“ On the contrary, it seems our destiny,” 
grumbled Tom, whose destiny appeared not to 
please him. 


39 


CHAPTER IV 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 

Lady Valentine was the widow of a baronet 
of good family and respectable means ; the one 
was to be continued and the other absorbed by 
her son, young Sir Walter, now an Oxford under- 
graduate and just turned twenty-one years of 
age. Lady Valentine had a jointure, and Mar- 
jory a pretty face. The remaining family assets 
were a country-house of moderate dimensions in 
the neighbourhood of Maidenhead, and a small 
flat in Cromwell Road. Lady Valentine de- 
plored the rise of the plutocracy, and had some- 
times secretly hoped that a plutocrat would 
marry her daughter. In other respects she was 
an honest and unaffected woman. 

Young Sir Walter, however, had his own 
views for his sister, and young Sir Walter, when 
he surveyed the position which the laws and 
customs of the realm gave him, was naturally 
led to suppose that his opinion had some im- 
portance. He was hardly responsible for the 
error, and very probably Mr. Ruston would have 
been better advised had his bearing towards the 
young man not indicated so very plainly that the 
40 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


error was an error. But in the course of the 
visits to Cromwell Road, which Ruston found 
time to pay in the intervals of floating the Omo- 
faga Company — and he was a man who found 
time for many things — this impression of his 
made itself tolerably evident, and, consequently, 
Sir Walter entertained grave doubts whether 
Ruston were a gentleman. And, if a fellow is 
not a gentleman, what, he asked, do brains and 
all the rest of it go for ? Moreover, how did the 
chap live ? To which queries Marjory answered 
that “ Oxford boys ” were very silly — a remark 
which embittered, without in the least elucidat- 
ing, the question. 

Almost everybody has one disciple who looks 
up to him as master and mentor, and, ill as he 
was suited to such a post, Evan Haselden filled 
it for Walter Valentine. Evan had been in his 
fourth year when Walter was a freshman, and 
the reverence engendered in those days had been 
intensified when Evan had become, first, sec- 
retary to a minister, and then, as he showed 
diligence and aptitude, a member of Parliament. 
Evan was a strong Tory, but payment of mem- 
bers had an unholy attraction for him; this in- 
dication of his circumstances may suffice. Men 
thought him a promising youth, women called 
him a nice boy, and young Sir Walter held him 
for a statesman and a man of the world. 

41 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Seeing that what Sir Walter wanted was an 
unfavourable opinion of Ruston, he could not 
have done better than consult his respected 
friend. Juggernaut — Adela Ferrars was pleased 
with the nickname, and it began to be repeated 
• — had been crushing Evan in one or two little 
ways lately, and he did it with an unconscious- 
ness that increased the brutality. Besides dis- 
placing him from the position he wished to 
occupy at more than one social gathering, Rus- 
ton, being in the Lobby of the House one day 
(perhaps on Omofaga business), had likened the 
pretty (it was his epithet) young member, as he 
sped with a glass of water to his party leader, to 
Ganymede in a frock-coat — a description, Evan 
felt, injurious to a serious politician. 

“ A gentleman ? ” he said, in reply to young 
Sir W alters inquiry. “ W ell, everybody’s a gen- 
tleman now, so I suppose Ruston is.” 

“ I call him an unmannerly brute,” observed 
Walter, “and I can’t think why mother and 
Marjory are so civil to him.” 

Evan shook his head mournfully. 

“You meet the fellow everywhere,” he sighed. 

“ Such an ugly mug as he’s got too,” pursued 
young Sir Walter. “But Marjory says it’s full 
of character.” 

“ Character ! I should think so. Enough to 
hang him on sight,” said Evan bitterly. 

42 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 

“ He s been a lot to our place. Marjory seems 
to like him. I say, Haselden, do you remember 
what you spoke of after dinner at the Savoy the 
other day ? ” 

Evan nodded, looking rather embarrassed ; in- 
deed he blushed, and, little as he liked doing 
that, it became him very well. 

“Did you mean it? Because, you know, I 
should like it awfully.” 

“ Thanks, Val, old man. Oh, rather, I meant 
it.” 

Young Sir Walter lowered his voice and 
looked cautiously round — they were in the club 
smoking-room. 

“ Because I thought, you know, that you 
were rather — you know — Adela Ferrars? ” 

“ Nothing in that, only pour passer le temps” 
Evan assured him with that superb man-of-the- 
worldliness. 

It was a pity that Adela could not hear him. 
But there was more to follow. 

“ The truth is,” resumed Evan — “ and, of 
course, I rely on your discretion, Val — I thought 
there might be a — an obstacle.” 

Young Sir Walter looked knowing. 

“ When you were good enough to suggest 
what you did — about your sister — I doubted for 
a moment how such a thing would be received 
by — well, at a certain house.” 

43 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Oh!” 

44 1 shouldn’t wonder if you could guess.” 

44 N — no, I don’t think so.” 

44 Well, it doesn’t matter where.” 

44 Oh, but I say, you might as well tell me. 
Hang it, I’ve learnt to hold my tongue.” 

“You hadn’t noticed it? That’s all right. 
I’m glad to hear it,” said Evan, whose satisfac- 
tion was not conspicuous in his tone. 

44 I’m so little in town, you see,” said Walter 
tactfully. 

44 Well — for heaven’s sake, don’t let it go any 
farther — Curzon Street.” 

44 What ! Of course ! Mrs. — ” 

44 All right, yes. But I’ve made up my mind. 
I shall drop all that. Best, isn’t it?” 

Walter nodded a sagacious assent. 

4 4 There was never anything in it, really,” said 
Evan, and he was not displeased with his friend’s 
incredulous expression. It is a great luxury to 
speak the truth and yet not be believed. 

44 Now, what you propose,” continued Evan, 
44 is most — but, I say, Val, what does she think? ” 

44 She likes you — and you’ll have all my influ- 
ence,” said the Head of the Family in a tone of 
importance. 

44 But how do you know she likes me ? ” in- 
sisted Evan, whose off-hand air gave place to a 
manner betraying some trepidation. 

44 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


“ I don’t know for certain, of course. And, I 
say, Haselden, I believe mother’s got an idea in 
her head about that fellow Ruston.” 

“ The devil ! That brute ! Oh, hang it, Val, 
she can’t — your sister, I mean — I tell you what, 
I sha’n’t play the fool any longer.” 

Sir Walter cordially approved of increased ac- 
tivity, and the two young gentlemen, having 
settled one lady’s future and disposed of the 
claims of two others to their complete satisfac- 
tion, betook themselves to recreation. 

Evan was not, however, of opinion that any- 
thing in the conversation above recorded, im- 
posed upon him the obligation of avoiding 
entirely Mrs. Dennison’s society. On the con- 
trary, he took an early opportunity of going to 
see her. His attitude towards her was one of 
considerably greater deference than Sir Walter 
understood it to be, and he had a high idea of 
the value of her assistance. And he did not 
propose to deny himself such savour of senti- 
ment as the lady would allow; and she gener- 
ally allowed a little. He intended to say noth- 
ing about Ruston, but, as it happened that Mrs. 
Dennison’s wishes set in an opposing direction, 
he had not long been in the drawing-room at 
Curzon Street before he found himself again 
with the name of his enemy on his lips. He 
spoke with refreshing frankness and an engaging 
4 45 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


confidence in his hostess’ sympathy. Mrs. Den- 
nison had no difficulty in seeing that he had a 
special reason for his bitterness. 

“ Is it only because he called you Ganymede ? 
And it’s a very good name for you, Mr. Hasel- 
den.” 

To be compared to Ganymede in private by 
a lady and in public by a scoffer, are things very 
different. Evan smiled complacently. 

“ There’s more than that, isn’t there ? ” asked 
Mrs. Dennison. 

Evan admitted that there was more, and, in 
obedience to some skilful guidance, he revealed 
what there was more — what beyond mere of- 
fended dignity — between himself and Mr. Rus- 
ton. He had to complain of no lack of interest 
on the part of his listener. Mrs. Dennison ques- 
tioned him closely as to his grounds for antici- 
pating Ruston’s rivalry. The idea was evidently 
quite new to her; and Evan was glad to detect 
her reluctance to accept it — she must think 
as he did about Willie Ruston. The tangible 
evidence appeared on examination reassuringly 
small, and Evan, by a strange conversion, found 
himself driven to defend his apprehensions by in- 
sisting on just that power of attraction in his foe 
which he had begun by denying altogether. 
But that, Mrs. Dennison objected, only showed, 
even if it existed, that Marjory might like Rus- 
46 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


ton, not that Huston would return her liking. 
On the whole Mrs. Dennison comforted him, 
and, dismissing Huston from the discussion, said 
with a smile, 

“ So you’re thinking of settling down already, 
are you ? ” 

“I say, Mrs. Dennison, you’ve always been 
awfully good to me ; I wonder if you’d help me 
in this ? ” 

“ How could I help you ? ” 

“ Oh, lots of ways. Well, for instance, old 
Lady Valentine doesn’t ask me there often. You 
see, I haven’t got any money.” 

“Poor boy! Of course you haven’t. Nice 
young men never have any money.” 

“ So I don’t get many chances of seeing her.” 

“ And I might arrange meetings for you ? 
That’s how I could help ? Now, why should I 
help?” 

Evan was encouraged by this last question, 
put in his friend’s doubtfully-serious, doubtfully- 
playful manner. 

“ It needn’t,” he said, in a tone rather more 
timid than young Sir Walter would have ex- 
pected, “ make any difference to our friendship, 
need it ? If it meant that — ” 

The sentence was left in expressive incomplete- 
ness. 

Mrs. Dennison wanted to laugh; but why 
47 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


should she hurt his feelings ? He was a pleasant 
boy, and, in spite of his vanity, really a clever 
one. He had been a little spoilt ; that was all. 
She turned her laugh in another direction. 

“ Berthe Cormack would tell you that it would 
be sure to intensify it,” she said. “ Seriously, I 
sha’n’t hate you for marrying, and I don’t sup- 
pose Marjory will hate me.” 

“Then” (Mrs. Dennison had to smile at that 
little word), “ you’ll help me ? ” 

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Dennison, allowing her 
smile to become manifest. 

“You won’t be against me ? ” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

“ Good-bye,” said Evan, pressing her hand. 

He had enjoyed himself very much, and Mrs. 
Dennison was glad that she had been good- 
natured, and had not laughed. 

“ Good-bye, and I hope you’ll be very happy, 
if you succeed. And — Evan — don’t kill Mr. 
Ruston ! ” 

The laugh came at last, but he was out of the 
door in time, and Mrs. Dennison had no leisure 
to enjoy it fully, for, the moment her visitor was 
gone, Mr. Belford and Lord Semingham were 
announced. They came together, seeking Harry 
Dennison. There was a ‘ 4 little hitch ” of some 
sort in the affairs of the Omofaga Company — 
nothing of consequence, said Mr. Belford reas- 
48 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


suringly. Mrs. Dennison explained that Harry 
Dennison had gone off to call on Mr. Ruston. 

“ Oh, then he knows by now,” said Seming- 
ham in a tone of relief. 

“ And it’ll be all right,” added Belford con- 
tentedly. 

“Mr. Belford,” said Mrs. Dennison, “I’m liv- 
ing in an atmosphere of Omofaga. I eat it, and 
drink it, and wear it, and breathe it. And what, 
in the end, is it ? ” 

“Ask Ruston,” interposed Semingham. 

“ I did ; but I don’t think he told me. ” 

“ But surely, my dear Mrs. Dennison, your 
husband takes you into his confidence ? ” sug- 
gested Mr. Belford. 

Mrs. Dennison smiled as she replied, 

“ Oh, yes, I know what you’re doing. But I 
want to know why you’re doing it. I don’t 
believe you’ll ever get anything out of it, you 
know.” 

“ Oh, directors always get something,” pro- 
tested Semingham. “Penal servitude some- 
times but always something.” 

“ I’ve never had such implicit faith in any un- 
dertaking in my life,” asserted Mr. Belford. 
“And I know that your husband shares my 
views. It’s bound to be the greatest success of 
the day. Ah, here’s Dennison ! ” 

Harry came in wiping his brow. Belford 
49 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


rushed to him, and drew him to the window, 
button-holing him with decision. Lord Seming- 
ham smiled lazily and pulled his whisker. 

“ Don’t you want to hear the news ?” Mrs. 
Dennison asked. 

“ No ! He’s been to Ruston.” 

Mrs. Dennison looked at him for an instant, 
with something rather like scorn in her eye. 
Lord Semingham laughed. 

“I’m not quite as bad as that, really,” he 
said. 

“ And the others ? ” she asked, leaning forward 
and taking care that her voice did not reach the 
other pair. 

“ He turns Belford round his fingers.” 

“ And Mr. Carlin ? ” 

“ In his pocket.” 

Mrs. Dennison cast a glance towards the 
window. 

“ Don’t go on,” implored Semingham, half- 
seriously. 

“ And my husband ? ” she asked in a still lower 
voice. 

Lord Semingham protested with a gesture 
against such cross-examination. 

“ Surely it’s a good thing for me to know ? ” 
she said. 

“ Well — a great influence.” 

“ Thank you.” 


50 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


There was a pause for an instant. Then she 
rose with a laugh and rang the bell for tea. 

“ I hope he won’t ruin us all,” she said. 

“ I’ve got Bessie’s settlement,” observed Lord 
Semingham; and he added after a moment’s 
pause, “ What’s the matter? I thought you 
were a thorough-going believer.” 

“ I’m a woman,” she answered. “ If I were a 
man — ” 

“ You’d be the prophet, not the disciple, eh ? ” 

She looked at him, and then across to the cou- 
ple by the window. 

“ To do Belford justice,” remarked Semingham, 
reading her glance, “he never admits that he 
isn’t a great man — though surely he must know 
it.” 

“ Is it better to know it, or not to know it ? ” 
she asked, restlessly fingering the teapot and cups 
which had been placed before her. “ I some- 
times think that if you resolutely refuse to know 
it, you can alter it.” 

Belford’s name had been the only name men- 
tioned in the conversation ; yet Semingham knew 
that she was not thinking of Belford nor of 
him. 

“I knew it about myself very soon,” he said. 
“ It makes a man better to know it, Mrs. Den- 
nison.” 

“ Oh, yes — better,” she answered impatiently. 

51 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


The two men came and joined them. Belford 
accepted a cup of tea, and, as he took it, he said 
to Harry, continuing their conversation, 

“ Of course, I know his value ; but, after all, 
we must judge for ourselves.” 

“ Of course,” acquiesced Harry, handing him 
bread-and-butter. 

“We are the masters,” pursued Belford. 

Mrs. Dennison glanced at him, and a smile so 
full of meaning — of meaning which it was as 
well Mr. Belford should not see — appeared on 
her face, that Lord Semingham deftly interposed 
his person between them, and said, with apparent 
seriousness, 

“ Oh, he mustn’t think he can do just what he 
likes with us.” 

“ I am entirely of your opinion,” said Belford, 
with a weighty nod. 

After tea, Lord Semingham walked slowly 
back to his own house. He had a trick of stop- 
ping still, when he fell into thought, and he was 
motionless on the pavement of Piccadilly more 
than once on his way home. The last time he 
paused for nearly three minutes, till an acquaint- 
ance, passing by, clapped him on the back, and 
inquired what occupied his mind. 

“I was thinking,” said Semingham, laying his 
forefinger on his friend’s arm, “ that if you take 
what a clever man really is, and add to it what 
52 


TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 


a clever woman who is interested in him thinks 
he is, you get a most astonishing person.” 

The friend stared. The speculation seemed 
hardly pressing enough to excuse a man for block- 
ing the pavement of Piccadilly. 

“ If, on the other hand,” pursued Semingham, 
“ you take what an ordinary man isn’t, and add 
all that a clever woman thinks he isn’t, you 
get-” 

“ Hadn’t we better go on, old fellow? ” asked 
the friend. 

“No, I think we’d better not,” said Seming- 
ham, starting to walk again. 


53 


CHAPTER V 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 

The success of Lady Valentine’s Saturday to 
Monday party at Maidenhead was spoilt by the 
unscrupulous, or (if the charitable view be pos- 
sible) the muddle-headed conduct of certain emi- 
nent African chiefs — so small is the world, so 
strong the chain of gold (or shares) that binds it 
together. The party was marred by Willie Hus- 
ton’s absence ; and he was away because he had 
to go to Frankfort, and he had to go to Frank- 
fort because of that little hitch in the affairs of 
the Omofaga. The hitch was, in truth, a some- 
what grave one, and it occurred, most annoyingly, 
immediately after a gathering, marked by un- 
common enthusiasm and composed of highly-in- 
fluential persons, had set the impress of approval 
on the scheme. On the following morning, it 
was asserted that the said African chiefs, from 
whom Ruston and his friends derived their title 
to Omofaga, had acted in a manner that belied 
the character for honesty and simplicity in com- 
mercial matters (existing side by side with in- 
tense savagery and cruelty in social and political 
54 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


life) that Mr. Foster Belford had attributed to 
them at the great meeting. They had, it was 
said, sold Omofaga several times over in small 
parcels, and twice, at least, en bloc — once to the 
Syndicate (from whom the Company was ac- 
quiring it) and once to an association of German 
capitalists. The writer of the article, who said 
that he knew the chiefs well, went so far as to 
maintain that any person provided with a few 
guns and a dozen or so bottles of ardent spirits 
could return from Omofaga with a portmanteau 
full of treaties, and this facility in obtaining the 
article could not, in accordance with the law of 
supply and demand, do other than gravely affect 
the value of it. Willie Ruston was inclined to 
make light of this disclosure ; indeed, he attrib- 
uted it to a desire — natural but unprincipled — 
on the part of certain persons to obtain Omofaga 
shares at less than their high intrinsic value ; he 
called it a “ bear dodge ” and sundry other op- 
probrious names, and snapped his fingers at all 
possible treaties in the world except his own. 
Once let him set his foot in Omofaga, and short 
would be the shrift of rival claims, supposing 
them to exist at all ! But the great house of 
Dennison, Sons & Company, could not go on in 
this happy-go-lucky fashion — so the senior part- 
ner emphatically told Harry Dennison — they 
were already, in his opinion, deep enough in this 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


affair ; if they were to go any deeper, this matter 
of the association of German capitalists must be 
inquired into. The house had not only its money, 
but its credit and reputation to look after; it 
could not touch any doubtful business, nor could 
it be left with a block of Omofagas on its hands. 
In effect they were trusting too much to this 
Mr. Ruston, for he, and he alone, was their se- 
curity in the matter. Not another step would 
the house move till the German capitalists were 
dissolved into thin air. So Willie Ruston packed 
his portmanteau — likely enough the very one 
that had carried the treaties away from Omofaga 
— and went to Frankfort to track the German 
capitalists to their lair. Meanwhile, the issue of 
the Omofaga was postponed, and Mr. Carlin was 
set a-telegraphing to Africa. 

Thus it also happened that, contrary to her 
fixed intention, Lady Valentine was left with a 
bedroom to spare, and with no just or producible 
reason whatever for refusing her son’s request 
that Evan Haselden might occupy it. This, 
perhaps, should, in the view of all true lovers, 
be regarded as an item on the credit side of the 
African chiefs’ account, though in the hostess’s 
eyes it aggravated their offence. Adela Ferrars, 
Mr. Foster Belford and Tom Loring, who posi- 
tively blessed the African chiefs, were the re- 
maining guests. 


56 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


All parties cannot be successful, and, if truth 
be told, this of Lady Valentine’s was no con- 
spicuous triumph. Belford and Loring quar- 
relled about Omofaga, for Loring feared (he 
used that word) that there might be a good deal 
in the German treaties, and Belford was loud- 
mouthed in declaring there could be nothing. 
Marjory and her brother had “a row” because 
Marjory, on the Saturday afternoon, would not 
go out in the Canadian canoe with Evan, but 
insisted on taking a walk with Mr. Belford and 
hearing all about Omofaga. Finally, Adela and 
Tom Loring had a rather serious dissension be- 
cause — well, just because Tom was so intolerably 
stupid and narrow-minded and rude. That was 
Adela’s own account of it, given in her own 
words, w T hich seems pretty good authority. 

The unfortunate discussion began with an 
expression of opinion from Tom. They were 
lounging very comfortably down stream in a 
broad-bottomed boat. It was a fine still evening 
and a lovely sunset. It was then most wanton 
of Tom — even although he couched his remark 
in a speciously general form — to say, 

“ I wonder at fellows who spend their life 
worming money out of other people for wild- 
cat schemes instead of taking to some honest 
trade.” 

There was a pause. Then Adela fitted her 
57 


THE GOD IN THE CAE 


glasses on her nose, and observed, with a careful 
imitation of Tom’s forms of expression, 

“I wonder at fellows who drift through life 
in subordinate positions without the — the spunk 
— to try and do anything for themselves. 

“ Women have no idea of honesty.” 

“ Men are such jealous creatures.” 

“ I’m not jealous of him,” Tom blurted out. 

“ Of who ? ” asked Adela. 

She was keeping the cooler of the pair. 

“ Confound these beastly flies,” said Tom 
peevishly. There was a fly or two about, but 
Adela smiled in a superior way. “ I suppose 
I’ve some right to express an opinion,” continued 
Tom. “You know what I feel about the Den- 
nisons, and — well, it’s not only the Dennisons.” 

“ Oh ! the Valentines? ” 

“ Blow the Valentines !” said Tom, very un- 
gratefully, inasmuch as he sat in their boat and 
had eaten their bread. 

He bent over his sculls, and Adela looked at 
him with a doubtful little smile. She thought 
Tom Loring, on the whole, the best man she 
knew, the truest and loyalest ; but these qualities 
are not everything, and it seemed as if he meant 
to be secretary to Harry Dennison all his life. 
Of course he had no money, there was that ex- 
cuse; but to some men want of money is a 
reason, not for doing nothing, but for attempting 
58 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


everything ; it had struck Willie Ruston in that 
light. Therefore she was at times angry with 
Tom — and all the more angry the more she 
admired him. 

“ You do me the honour to be anxious on my 
account ? ” she asked very stiffly. 

“He asked me how much money you had the 
other day.” 

“ Oh, you’re insufferable; you really are. Do 
you always tell women that men care only for 
their money ? ” 

“ It’s not a bad thing to tell them when it’s 
true. ’ ’ 

“ I call this the very vulgarest dispute I was 
ever entrapped into.” 

“ It’s not my fault. It’s — Hullo ! ” 

His attention was arrested by Lady Valen- 
tine’s footman, who stood on the bank, calling 
“ Mr. Loring, sir,” and holding up a telegram. 

“Thank goodness, we’re interrupted,” said 
Adela. “ Row ashore, Mr. Loring.” 

Loring obeyed, and took his despatch. It was 
from Harry Dennison, and he read it aloud. 

“ Can you come up? News from Frankfort.” 

“ I must go,” said Tom. 

“ Oh, yes. If you’re not there, Mr. Ruston 
will do something dreadful, won’t he ? I should 
59 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


like to come too. News from Frankfort would be 
more interesting than news from Mr. Belford.” 

They parted without any approach towards a 
reconciliation. Tom was hopelessly sulky, Adela 
persistently flippant. The shadow of Omofaga 
lay heavy on Lady Valentine’s party, and still 
shrouded Tom Loring on his way to town. 

The important despatch from Frankfort had 
come in cipher, and when Tom arrived in Cur- 
zon Street, he found Mr. Carlin, who had been 
sent for to read it, just leaving the house. The 
men nodded to one another, and Carlin hastily 
exclaimed, 

“You must reassure Dennison ! You can do 
it ! ” and leapt into a hansom. 

Tom smiled. If the progress of Omofaga de- 
pended on encouragement from him, Omofaga 
would remain in primitive barbarism, though 
missionaries fell thick as the leaves in autumn. 

Harry Dennison was walking up and down 
the library; his hair was roughened and his ap- 
pearance indicative of much unrest ; his wife sat 
in an arm-chair, looking at him and listening to 
Lord Semingham, who, poising a cigarette be- 
tween his fingers, was putting, or trying to put, 
a meaning to Ruston’s message. 

“ Position critical. Must act at once. Will 
you give me a free hand ? If not, wire how 
far I may go.” 


60 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


That was how it ran when faithfully interpreted 
by Mr. Carlin. 

“You see,” observed Lord Semingham, “it’s 
clearly a matter of money.” 

Tom nodded. 

“ Of course it is,” said he ; “ it’s not likely to 
be a question of anything else.” 

“ Therefore the Germans have something 
worth paying for,” continued Semingham. 

“Well,” amended Tom, “something Ruston 
thinks it worth his while to pay for, anyhow.” 

“ That is to say they have treaties touching, 
or purporting to touch, Omofaga.” 

“ And,” added Harry Dennison, who did not 
lack a certain business shrewdness, “ probably 
their Government behind them to some extent.” 

Tom flung himself into a chair. 

“ The thing’s monstrous,” he pronounced. 
“ Semingham and you, Dennison, are, besides 
himself — and he’s got nothing — the only people 
responsible up to now. And he asks you to 
give him an unlimited credit without giving you 
a word of information ! It’s the coolest thing I 
ever heard of in all my life.” 

“ Of course he means the Company to pay in 
the end,” Semingham reminded the hostile critic. 

“ Time enough to talk of the Company when 
we see it,” retorted Tom, with an aggressive 
scepticism. 

5 


61 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Position critical ! Hum. I suppose their 
treaties must be worth something,” pursued Sem- 
ingham. “ Dennison, I can’t be drained dry 
over this job.” 

Harry Dennison shook his head in a puzzled 
fashion. 

“ Carlin says it’s all right,” he remarked. 

“Of course he does!” exclaimed Tom im- 
patiently. “ Two and two make five for him if 
Ruston says they do.” 

“Well, Tom, what’s your advice?” asked 
Semingham. 

“ You must tell him to do nothing till he’s 
seen you, or at least sent you full details of the 
position.” 

The two men nodded. Mrs. Dennison rose 
from her chair, walked to the window, and stood 
looking out. 

“ Loring just confirms what I thought,” said 
Semingham. 

“ He says he must act at once,” Harry remind- 
ed them ; he was still wavering, and, as he spoke, 
he glanced uneasily at his wife ; but there was 
nothing to show that she even heard the con- 
versation. 

“ Oh, he hates referring to anybody,” said 
Tom. “ He’s to have a free hand, and you’re to 
pay the bill. That’s his programme, and a very 
pretty one it is — for him.” 

62 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


Toms animus was apparent, and Lord Sem- 
ingham laughed gently. 

“ Still, you’re right in substance,” he conceded 
when the laugh was ended, and as he spoke he 
drew a sheet of notepaper towards him and took 
up a pen. 

“ We’d better settle just what to say,” he ob- 
served. “ Carlin will be back in half an hour, 
and we promised to have it ready for him. What 
you suggest seems all right, Loring.” 

Tom nodded. Harry Dennison stood stock- 
still for an instant, and then said, with a sigh, 

“ I suppose so. He’ll be furious — and I hope 
to God we sha’n’t lose the whole thing.” 

Lord Semingham’s pen-point was in actual 
touch with the paper before him, when Mrs. 
Dennison suddenly turned round and faced 
them. She rested one hand on the window- 
sash, and held the other up in a gesture which 
demanded attention. 

“ Are you really going to back out now ? ” 
she asked in a very quiet voice, but with an in- 
tonation of contempt that made all the three 
men raise their heads with the jerk of startled 
surprise. Lord Semingham checked the move- 
ment of his pen, and leant back in his chair, look- 
ing at her. Her face was a little flushed and she 
was breathing quickly. 

“ My dear,” said Harry Dennison very apolo- 

63 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

getically, “ do you think you quite under- 
stand — ? ” 

But Tom Loring’s patience was exhausted. 
His interview with Adela left him little reserve 
of toleration ; and the discovery of another and 
even worse case of Rustomania utterly over- 
powered his discretion. 

“ Mrs. Dennison,” he said, “ wants us to deliver 
ourselves, bound hand and foot, to this fellow. 

“Well, and if I do?” she demanded, turning 
on him. “ Can’t you even follow, when you’ve 
found a man who can lead ? ” 

And then, conscious perhaps of having been 
goaded to an excess of warmth by Tom’s open 
scorn, she turned her face away. 

‘ ‘ Lead, yes ! Lead us to ruin ! ” exclaimed 
Tom. 

“ You won’t be ruined anyhow,” she retorted 
quickly, facing round on him again, reckless in 
her anger how she might wound him. 

“Tom’s anxious for us, Maggie,” her husband 
reminded her, and he laid his hand on Tom 
Loring’s shoulder. 

Tom’s excitement was not to be soothed. 

“ Why are we all to be his instruments ? ” he 
demanded angrily. 

“ I should be proud to be,” she said haugh- 
tily. 

Her husband smiled in an uneasy effort after 
64 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


nonchalance, and Lord Semingham shot a quick 
glance at her out of his observant eyes. 

“ I should be proud of a friend like you if I 
were Ruston,” he said gently, hoping to smooth 
matters a little. 

Mrs. Dennison ignored his attempt. 

“ Can’t you see ? ” she asked. “ Can’t you see 
that he’s a man to — to do things ? It’s enough 
for us if we can help him.” 

She had forgotten her embarrassment; she 
spoke half in contempt, half in entreaty, wholly 
in an earnest urgency, that made her unconscious 
of any strangeness in her zeal. Harry looked 
uncomfortable. Semingham with a sigh blew a 
cloud of smoke from his cigarette. 

Tom Loring sat silent. He stretched out his 
legs to their full length, rested the nape of his 
neck on the chair-back, and stared up at the 
ceiling. His attitude eloquently and most rudely 
asserted folly — almost lunacy — in Mrs. Denni- 
son. She noticed it and her eyes flashed, but 
she did not speak to him. She looked at Seming- 
ham and surprised an expression in his eyes that 
made her drop her own for an instant ; she knew 
very well what he was thinking — what a man 
like him would think. But she recovered herself 
and met his glance boldly. 

Harry Dennison sat down and slowly rubbed 
his brow with his handkerchief. Lord Seming- 
65 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


ham took up the pen and balanced it between 
his fingers. There was silence in the room for 
full three minutes. Then came a loud knock at 
the hall door. 

“ It’s Carlin,” said Harry Dennison. 

No one else spoke, and for another moment 
there was silence. The steps of the butler and 
the visitor were already audible in the hall when 
Lord Semingham, with his own shrug and his own 
smile, as though nothing in the world were worth 
so much dispute or so much bitterness, said to 
Dennison, 

“ Hang it ! Shall we chance it, Harry ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison made one swift step forward 
towards him, her face all alight ; but she stopped 
before she reached the table and turned to her 
husband. At the moment Carlin was announced. 
He entered with a rush of eagerness. Tom 
Loring did not move. Semingham wrote on his 
paper, — 

“ Use your discretion, but make every effort 
to keep down expenses. Wire progress.” 

“ Will that do ? ” he asked, handing the paper 
to Harry Dennison and leaning back with a 
smile on his face; and, though he handed the 
paper to Harry, he looked at Mrs. Dennison. 

Mrs. Dennison was standing by her husband 
66 


A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 


now, her arm through his. As he read she read 
also. Then she took the paper from his yielding 
hand and came and bent over the table, shoulder 
to shoulder with Lord Semingham. Taking the 
pen from his fingers, she dipped it in the ink, and 
with a firm dash erased all save the first three 
words of the message. This done, she looked 
round into Semingham’s face with a smile of 
triumph. 

“ W ell, it’ll be cheap to send anyhow,” said he. 

He got up and motioned Carlin to take his 
place. 

Mrs. Dennison walked back to the window, 
and he followed her there. They heard Carlin’s 
cry of delight, and Harry Dennison beginning 
to make excuses and trying to find business 
reasons for what had been done. Suddenly 
Tom Loring leapt to his feet and strode swiftly 
out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 
Mrs. Dennison heard the sound with a smile of 
content. She seemed to have no misgivings 
and no regrets. 

“ Really,” said Lord Semingham, sticking his 
eyeglass in his eye and regarding her closely, 
“ you ought to be the Queen of Omofaga.” 

With her slim fingers she began to drum gen- 
tly on the window-pane. 

“ I think there’s a king already,” she said, 
looking out into the street. 

67 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Oh, yes, a king,” he answered with a laugh. 

Mrs. Dennison looked round. He did not 
stop laughing, and presently she laughed just a 
little herself. 

“ Oh, of course, it’s always that in a woman, 
isn’t it? ” she asked sarcastically. 

“ Generally,” he answered, unashamed. 

She grew grave, and looked in his face almost 
— so it seemed to him — as though she sought 
there an answer to something that puzzled her. 
He gave her none. She sighed and drummed 
on the window again; then she turned to him 
with a sudden bright smile. 

“ I don’t care ; I’m glad I did it,” she said 
defiantly. 


x 


68 


CHAPTER VI 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 

Probably no one is always wrong; at anyrate, 
Mr. Otto Heather was right now and then, and 
he had hit the mark when he accused Willie 
Ruston of “ commercialism.” But he went 
astray when he concluded, per saltum, that the 
object of his antipathy was a money-grubbing, 
profit-snatching, upper-hand-getting machine, 
and nothing else in the world. Probably, again, 
no one ever was. Ruston had not only feelings, 
but also what many people consider a later de- 
velopment — a conscience. And, whatever the 
springs on which his conscience moved, it acted 
as a restraint upon him. Both his feelings and 
his conscience would have told him that it would 
not do for him to delude his friends or the pub- 
lic with a scheme which was a fraud. He would 
have delivered this inner verdict in calm and 
temperate terms ; it would have been accom- 
panied by no disgust, no remorse, no revulsion 
at the idea having made its way into his mind ; 
it was just that, on the whole, such a thing 
wouldn’t do. The vagueness of the phrase 
faithfully embodied the spirit of the decision, for 
69 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

whether it wouldn’t do, because it was in itself 
unseemly, or merely because, if found out, it 
would look unseemly, was precisely one of those 
curious points with which Mr. Ruston’s practi- 
cal intellect declined to trouble itself. If Omo- 
faga had been a fraud, then Ruston would have 
whistled it down the wind. But Omofaga was 
no fraud — in his hands at least no fraud. For, 
while he believed in Omofaga to a certain ex- 
tent, Willie Ruston believed in himself to an 
indefinite, perhaps an infinite, extent. He 
thought Omofaga a fair security for anyone’s 
money, but himself a superb one. Omofaga 
without him — or other people’s Omofagas — 
might be a promising speculation ; add him, and 
Omofaga became a certainty. It will be seen, 
then, that Mr. Heather’s inspiration had soon 
failed — unless, that is, machines can see visions 
and dream dreams, and melt down hard facts 
in crucibles heated to seven times in the fires of 
imagination. But a man may do all this, and 
yet not be the passive victim of his dreams and 
imaginings. The old buccaneers — and Adela 
Ferrars had thought Ruston a buccaneer mod- 
ernised — dreamt, but they sailed and fought too ; 
and they sailed and fought and won because they 
dreamt. And if many of their dreams were 
tinted with the gleam of gold, they were none 
the less powerful and alluring for that. 

70 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


Ruston had laid the whole position before 
Baron von Geltschmidt of Frankfort, with — as 
it seemed— the utmost candour. He and his 
friends were not deeply committed in the mat- 
ter ; there was, as yet, only a small syndicate ; 
of course they had paid something for their 
rights, but, as the Baron knew (and Willie’s 
tone emphasised the fact that he must know), 
the actual sums paid out of pocket in these cases 
were not of staggering magnitude ; no company 
was formed yet ; none would be, unless all went 
smoothly. If the Baron and his friends were 
sure of their ground, and preferred to go on — 
why, he and his friends were not eager to com- 
mit themselves to a long and arduous contest. 
There must, he supposed, be a give-and-take be- 
tween them. 

“ It looks,” he said, “ as far as I can judge, as 
if either we should have to buy you out, or you 
would have to buy us out.” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested the Baron, blinking laz- 
ily behind his gold spectacles, “ we could get rid 
of you without buying you out. ” 

“ Oh, if you drove us to it, by refusing to 
treat, we should have a shot at that too, of 
course,” laughed Willie Ruston, swallowing a 
glass of white wine. The Baron had asked him 
to discuss the matter over luncheon. 

“ It seems to me,” observed the Baron, light- 
71 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


ing a cigar, “ that people are rather cold about 
speculations just now.” 

“ I should think so ; but this is not a specula- 
tion; it’s a certainty.” 

44 Why do you tell me that, when you want to 
get rid of me? ” 

44 Because you won’t believe it. W asn’t that 
Bismarck’s way ? ” 

“ You are not Bismarck — and a certainty is 
what the public thinks one.” 

44 Is that philosophy or finance ? ” asked Rus- 
ton, laughing again. 

The Baron, who had in his day loved both 
the subjects referred to, drank a glass of wine 
and chuckled as he delivered himself of the fol- 
lowing doctrine : — 

46 What the public thinks a certainty, is a cer- 
tainty for the public — that would be philosophy, 
eh ? ” 

44 1 believe so. I never read much, and your 
extract doesn’t raise my idea of its value.” 

44 But what the public thinks a certainty, is a 
certainty — for the promoters — that is finance. 
You see the difference is simple.” 

44 And the distinction luminous. This, Baron, 
seems to be the age of finance.” 

4 4 Ah, well, there are still honest men,” said 
the Baron, with the optimism of age. 

44 Yes, I’m one — and you’re another.” 

72 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


“I’m much obliged. You’ve been in Omo- 
faga ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. And you haven’t, Baron.” 

“ Friends of mine have.” 

“ Yes. They came just after I left.” 

The Baron knew that this statement was true. 
As his study of Willie Ruston progressed, he 
became inclined to think that it might be impor- 
tant. Mere right (so far as such a thing could 
be given by prior treaties) was not of much mo- 
ment; but right and Ruston together might be 
formidable. Now the Baron (and his friends 
were friends much in the way, mutatis mutandis , 
that Mr. Wagg and Mr. Wenham were friends 
of the Marquis of Steyne, and may therefore 
drop out of consideration) was old and rich, and, 
by consequence, at a great disadvantage with a 
man who was young and poor. 

“ I don’t see the bearing of that,” he observed, 
having paused for a moment to consider all its 
bearings. 

“ It means that you can’t have Omofaga,” 
said Willie Ruston. “ You were too late, you 
see.” 

The Baron smoked and drank and laughed. 

“ You’re a young fool, my boy — or something 
quite different,” said he, laying a hand on his 
companion’s arm. Then he asked suddenly, — 
“ What about Dennisons ? ” 

73 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ They’re behind me if — ” 

“Well?" 

“ If you’re not in front of me.” 

“ But if I am, my son ? ” asked the Baron, 
almost caressingly. 

“ Then I leave for Omofaga by the next 
boat." 

“ Eh ! And for what ? " 

“ Never mind what. You’ll find out when 
you come." 

The Baron sighed and tugged his beard. 

“ You English ! ” said he. “ Your Government 
won’t help you.” 

“Damn my Government." 

“You English!" said the Baron again, his 
tone struggling between admiration and a sort 
of oppression, while his face wore the look a 
man has who sees another push in front of him 
in a crowd, and wonders how the fellow works 
his way through. 

There was a long pause. Ruston lit his pipe, 
and, crossing his arms on his breast, blinked 
at the sun ; the Baron puffed away, shooting a 
glance now and then at his young friend, then 
he asked, 

“ Well, my boy, what do you offer ? ” 

“Shares,” answered Ruston composedly. 

The Baron laughed. The impudence of the 
offer pleased him. 


74 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


44 Yes, shares, of course. And besides? ” 

Willie Ruston turned to him. 

“ I shan’t haggle,” he announced. “ I’ll make 
you one offer, Baron, and it’s an uncommon 
handsome offer for a trunk of waste paper.” 

44 What’s the offer? ” asked the Baron, smiling 
with rich subdued mirth. 

44 Fifty thousand down, and the same in shares 
fully paid.” 

44 Not enough, my son.” 

44 All right,” and Mr. Ruston rose. 44 Much 
obliged for your hospitality, Baron,” he added, 
holding out his hand. 

44 Where are you going ? ” asked the Baron. 

44 Omofaga — via London.” 

The Baron caught him by the arm, and whis- 
pered in his ear, 

44 There’s not so much in it, first and last.” 

44 Oh, isn’t there ? Then why don’t you take 
the offer? ” 

44 Is it your money ? ” 

44 It’s good money. Come, Baron, you’ve 
always liked the safe side,” and Willie smiled 
down upon his host. 

The Baron positively started. This young 
man stood over him and told him calmly, face- 
to-face, the secret of his life. It was true. How 
he had envied men of real nerve, of faith, of 
daring ! But he had always liked the safe side. 

75 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Hence he was very rich — and a rather weary 
old man. 

Two days later, Willie Ruston took a cab 
from Lord Semingham’s, and drove to Curzon 
Street. He arrived at twelve o’clock in the 
morning. Harry Dennison had gone to a Com- 
mittee at the House. The butler had just told 
him so, when a voice cried from within, 

“ Is it you, Mr. Ruston ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison was standing in the hall. He 
went in, and followed her into the library. 

“Well?” she asked, standing by the table, 
and wasting no time in formal greetings. 

“ Oh, it’s all right,” said he. 

“ You got my telegram ? ” 

“Your telegram, Mrs. Dennison?” said he with 
a smile. 

“ I mean — the telegram,” she corrected herself, 
smiling in her turn. 

<e Oh, yes,” said Ruston, and he took a step 
towards her. “ I’ve seen Lord Semingham,” he 
added. 

“ Yes ? And these horrid Germans are out 
of the way ? ” 

“ Yes ; and Semingham is letting his shooting 
this year.” 

She laughed, and glanced at him as she 
asked, 

“ Then it cost a great deal ? ’ ’ 

76 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


“ Fifty thousand ! ” 

“Oh, then we can’t take Lord Semingham’s 
shooting, or anybody else’s. Poor Harry ! ” 

“ He doesn’t know yet.” 

“Aren’t you almost afraid to tell him, Mr. 
Ruston ? ” 

“ Aren’t you, Mrs. Dennison ? ” 

He smiled as he asked, and Mrs. Dennison 
lifted her eyes to his, and let them dwell there. 

“ Why did you do it ? ” he asked. 

“ Will the money be lost ? ” 

“ Oh, I hope not; but money’s always uncer- 
tain.” 

“ The thing’s not uncertain ? ” 

“ No ; the thing’s certain now.” 

She sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, and 
passed her hand over her broad brow. 

“Why did you do it ? ” Ruston repeated, and 
she laughed nervously. 

“I hate going back,” she said, twisting her 
hands in her lap. 

He had asked her the question which she had 
been asking herself without response. 

He sat down opposite her, flinging his soft 
cloth hat — for he had not been home since his 
arrival in London — on the table. 

“What a bad hat!” said Mrs. Dennison, 
touching it with the end of a forefinger. 

“ It’s done a journey through Omofaga.” 

6 77 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


4 4 Ah ! ” she laughed gently. “ Dear old hat ! ” 

44 Thanks to you, it’ll do another soon.” 

Mrs. Dennison sat up straight in her chair. 

44 You hope — ? ” she began. 

44 To be on my way in six months,” he answered 
in solid satisfaction. 

44 And for long ? ” 

44 It must take time.” 

44 What must ? ” 

44 My work there. ” 

She rose and walked to the window, as she 
had when she was about to send the telegram. 
Now also she was breathing quickly, and the 
flush, once so rare on her cheeks, was there again. 

44 And we,” she said in a low voice, looking 
out of the window, “ shall just hear of you once 
a year ? ” 

44 We shall have regular mails in no time,” 
said he. 44 Once a year, indeed ! Once a month, 
Mrs. Dennison ! ” 

With a curious laugh, she dashed the blind- 
tassel against the window. It was not for the 
sake of hearing of her that he wanted the mails. 
With a sudden impulse she crossed the room and 
stood opposite him. 

44 Do you care that” she asked, snapping her 
fingers, 44 for any soul alive? You’re delighted 
to leave us all and go to Omofaga ! ” 

Willie Ruston seemed not to hear; he was 
78 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 

mentally organising the mail service from Omo- 
faga. 

“I beg pardon?” he said, after a perceptible 
pause. 

“Oh! ’’cried Maggie Dennison, and at last 
her tone caught his attention. 

He looked up with a wrinkle of surprise on 
his brow. 

44 Why,” said he, 44 1 believe you’re angry 
about something. You look just as you did on 
— on the memorable occasion.” 

44 Oh, we aren’t all Carlins ! ” she exclaimed, 
carried away by her feelings. 

The least she had expected from him was 
grateful thanks ; a homage tinged with admira- 
tion was, in truth, no more than her due; if she 
had been an ugly dull woman, yet she had done 
him a great service, and she was not an ugly dull 
woman. But then neither was she Omofaga. 

44 If everybody was as good a fellow as old 
Carlin — ” began Willie Huston. 

44 If everybody was as useful and docile, you 
mean ; as good a tool for you ” 

At last it was too plain to be missed. 

44 Hullo!” he exclaimed. 44 What are you 
pitching into me for, Mrs. Dennison ? ” 

His words were ordinary enough, but at last 
he was looking at her, and the mails of Omofaga 
were for a moment forgotten. 

79 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 I wish I’d never made them send the 
wretched telegram,” she flashed out passionately. 
4 4 Much thanks I get ! ” 

44 You shall have a statue in the chief street of 
the chief town of — ’ 9 

44 How dare you! I’m not a girl to be 
chaffed.” 

The tears were standing in her eyes, as she 
threw herself back in a chair. Willie Ruston 
got up and stood by her. 

44 You’ll be proud of that telegram some day,” 
he said, rather as though he felt bound to pay 
her a compliment. 

44 Oh, you think that now? ” she said, uncon- 
vinced of his sincerity. 

“Yes. Though was it very difficult ? ” he asked 
with a sudden change of tone most depreciatory 
of her exploit. 

She glanced at him and smiled joyfully. She 
liked the depreciation better than the compli- 
ment. 

44 Not a bit,” she whispered, 44 for me.” 

He laughed slightly, and shut his lips close 
again. He began to understand Mrs. Dennison 
better. 

44 Still, though it was easy for you, it was 
precious valuable to me,” he observed. 

44 And how you hate being obliged to me, 
don’t you? ” 


80 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


He perceived that she understood him a little, 
but he smiled again as he asked, 

“ Oh, but what made you do it, you know ? ” 

44 You mean you did? Mr. Huston, I should 
like to see you at work in Omofaga.” 

44 Oh, a very humdrum business,” said he, with 
a shrug. 

“You’ll have soldiers ? ” 

“We shall call ’em police,” he corrected, 
smiling. 

“Yes; but they keep everybody down, and — 
and do as you order ? ” 

“ If not, I shall ask ’em why.” 

44 And the natives ? ” 

44 Civilise ’em.” 

“You — you’ll be governor? ” 

44 Oh, dear, no. Local administrator.” 

She laughed in his face ; and a grim smile 
from him seemed to justify her. 

“I’m glad I sent the telegram,” she half 
whispered, lying back in the chair and looking 
up at him. 4 4 1 shall have had something to do 
with all that, shan’t I ? Do you want any more 
money ? ” 

“Look here,” said Willie Ruston, “Omo- 
faga’s mine. I’ll find you another place, if you 
like, when I’ve put this job through.* 

A luxury of pleasure rippled through her laugh. 
She darted out her hand and caught his. 

81 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“No. I like Omofaga too ! ” she said, and as 
she said it, the door suddenly opened, and in 
walked Tom Loring — that is to say — in Tom 
Loring was about to walk; but when he saw 
what he did see, he stood still for a moment, and 
then, without a single word, either of greeting 
or apology, he turned his back, walked out 
again, and shut the door behind him. His en- 
trance and exit were so quick and sudden, that 
Mrs. Dennison had hardly dropped Willie Rus- 
ton’s hand before he was gone; she had certainly 
not dropped it before he came. 

Willie Ruston sat down squarely in a chair. 
Mrs. Dennison’s hot mood had been suddenly 
cooled. She would not ask him to go, but she 
glanced at the hat that had been through Omo- 
faga. He detected her. 

“I shall stay ten minutes,” he observed. 

She understood and nodded assent. Very little 
was said during the ten minutes. Mrs. Dennison 
seemed tired ; her eyes dropped towards the 
ground, and she reclined in her chair. Ruston 
was frowning and thrumming at intervals on the 
table. But presently his brow cleared and he 
smiled. Mrs. Dennison saw him from under her 
drooping lids. 

“ Well ? ” she asked in a petulant tone. 

“I believe you were going to fight me for 
Omofaga. ’ ’ 


82 


WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 


“ I don’t know what I was doing.” 

“ Is that fellow a fool ? ” 

“ He’s a much better man than you’ll ever be, 
Mr. Huston. Really you might go now.” 

“All right, I will. I’m going down to the 
city to see your husband and Carlin.” 

“ I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time.” 

She spoke with a bitterness which seemed im- 
possible to miss. But he appeared to miss it. 

“Oh, not a bit, really,” he assured her anx- 
iously. “ Good-bye,” he added, holding out his 
hand. 

“ Good-bye. I’ve shaken hands once.” 

He waited a moment to see if she would 
speak again, but she said nothing. So he left 
her. 

As he called a hansom, Mrs. Cormack was 
leaning over her balcony. She took a little 
jewelled watch out of her pocket and looked 
at it. 

“An hour and a quarter !” she cried. “And 
I know the poor man isn’t at home ! ” 


83 


CHAPTER VII 


AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 

Miss Adela Ferrars lived in Queen’s Gate, 
in company with her aunt, Mrs. Topham. Mrs. 
Topham’s husband had been the younger son of 
a peer of ancient descent; and a practised ob- 
server might almost have detected the fact in 
her manner, for she took her station in this life 
as seriously as her position in the next, and, in 
virtue of it, assumed a responsibility for the 
morals of her inferiors which betrayed a con- 
siderable confidence in her own. But she was a 
good woman, and a widow of the pattern most 
opposite to that of Mrs. Cormack. She dwelt 
more truly in the grave of her husband than in 
Queen’s Gate, and permitted herself no recrea- 
tions except such as may privily creep into re- 
ligious exercises and the ministrations of favourite 
clergymen ; and it is pleasant to think that she 
was very happy. As may be supposed, how- 
ever, Adela (who was a good woman in quite 
another way, and therefore less congenial with 
her aunt than any mere sinner could have been) 
and Mrs. Topham saw very little of one another, 
and would not have thought of living together 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 


unless each had been able to supply what the 
other wanted. Adela found money for the 
house, and Mrs. Topham lent the shelter of her 
name to her niece’s unprotected condition. 
There were separate sitting-rooms for the two 
ladies, and, if rumour were true (which, after 
all, it usually is not), a separate staircase for 
the clergy. 

Adela was in her drawing-room one afternoon 
when Lord Semingham was announced. He 
appeared to be very warm, and he carried a 
bundle of papers in his hand. Among the 
papers there was one of those little smooth 
white volumes which epitomise so much of the 
joy and sorrow of this transitory life. He gave 
himself a shake, as he sat down, and held up 
the book. 

“ The car has begun to move,” he observed. 

“ Juggernaut’s ? ” 

“Yes; and I have been to see my bankers. 
I take a trip to the seaside instead of a moor this 
year, and have let my own pheasant shooting.” 

He paused and added, 

“ Dennison has not taken my shooting. They 
go to the seaside too — with the children.” 

He paused again and concluded, 

“The Omofaga prospectus will be out to- 
morrow. ’ ’ 

Adela laughed. 


85 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 Bessie is really quite annoyed,” remarked 
Lord Semingham. 44 I have seldom seen her so 
perturbed — but I’ve sent Ruston to talk to her.” 

44 And why did you do it ? ” asked Adela. 

44 I should like to tell you a little history,” said 
he. 

And he told her how Mrs. Dennison had sent 
a telegram to Frankfort. This history was long, 
for Lord Semingham told it dramatically, as 
though he enjoyed its quality. Yet Adela made 
no comment beyond asking, 

‘ 4 And wasn’t she right ? ’ ’ 

“ Oh, for the Empire perhaps — for us, it means 
trips to the seaside.” 

He drew his chair a little nearer hers, and 
dropped his affection of comic plaintiveness. 

“ A most disgusting thing has happened in 
Curzon Street,” he said. 44 Have you heard ? ” 

44 No; I’ve seen nothing of Maggie lately. 
You’ve all been buried in Omofaga.” 

44 Hush ! No words of ill-omen, please ! Well, 
it’s annoyed me immensely. I can’t think what 
the foolish fellow means. Tom Loring’s going.” 

44 Tom — Loring — going ? ” she exclaimed with 
a punctuated pause between every word. 44 What 
in the world for ? ” 

44 What is the ultimate cause of everything 
that happens to us now ? ” he asked, sticking his 
glass in his eye. 


86 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 

Adela felt as though she were playing at 
some absurd game of questions and answers, 
and must make her reply according to the rules. 

“ Oh, Mr. Ruston! ” she said, with a grimace. 

Her visitor nodded — as though he had been 
answered according to the rules. 

“Tom broke out in the most extraordinary 
manner. He said he couldn’t stay with Den- 
nison, if Dennison let Ruston lead him by the 
nose ( ipsissima verba , my dear Adela), and told 
Ruston to his face that he came for no good.” 

“ W ere you there ? ” 

“Yes. The man seemed to choose the most 
public opportunity. Did you ever hear such a 
thing ?” 

“ He’s mad about Mr. Ruston. He talked 
just the same way to me. What did Harry 
Dennison say ? ” 

“Harry went up to him and took his hand, 
and shook it, and, you know old Harry’s way, 
tried to smooth it all down, and get them to 
shake hands. Then Ruston got up and said 
he’d go and leave them to settle it between Tom 
and him. Oh, Ruston behaved very well. It 
was uncommonly awkward for him, you know.” 

“ Yes ; and when he’d gone ? ” 

“ Harry told Tom that he must keep his en- 
gagements ; but that, sooner than loose him, 
he’d go no deeper. That was pretty handsome, 
87 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


I thought, but it didn’t suit Tom. * I can’t stay 
in the house while that fellow comes,’ he said.” 

44 While he comes to the house ? ” cried Adela. 
Lord Semingham nodded. 44 You’ve hit the 
point,” he seemed to say, and he went on, 

“And then they both turned and looked at 
Maggie Dennison. She’d been sitting there 
without speaking a single word the whole time. 
I couldn’t go — Harry wouldn’t let me — so I got 
into a corner and looked at the photograph 
book. I felt rather an ass, between ourselves, you 
know.” 

44 And what did Maggie say ? ” 

44 Harry was looking as puzzled as an owl, 
and Tom as obstinate as a toad, and both stared 
at her. She looked first at Harry, and then at 
Tom, and smiled in that quiet way of hers. By 
the way, I never feel that I quite understand — ” 
44 Oh, never mind ! Of course you don’t. Go 
on.” 

“And then she said, 4 What a fuss! I hope 
that after all this Omofaga business is over Mr. 
Loring will come back to us.’ Pretty straight 
for Tom, eh ? He turned crimson, and walked 
right out of the room, and she sat down at the 
piano and began to play some infernal tune, and 
that soft-hearted old baby, Harry, blew his nose, 
and damned the draught.” 

44 And he’s going ? ” 


88 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 


“ Yes.” 

“ But,” she broke out, “ how can he ? He's 
got no money. What’ll he live on ? ” 

“Harry offered him as much as he wanted; 
but he said he had some savings, and wouldn’t 
take a farthing. He said he’d write for papers, 
or some such stuff.” 

“ He’s been with the Dennisons ever since — 
oh, years and years! Can’t you take him? 
He’d be awfully useful to you.” 

“My dear girl, I can’t offer charity to Tom 
Loring,”said Semingham, and he added quickly, 
“No more can you, you know. ” 

“ I quarrelled with him desperately a week 
ago,” said she mournfully. 

“ About Huston ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. About Mr. Huston, of course.” 
Lord Semingham whistled gently, and, after 
a pause, Adela leant forward and asked, 

“ Do you feel quite comfortable about it? ” 

“ Hang it, no ! But I’m too deep in. I hope 
to heaven the public will swallow it ! ” 

“ I didn’t mean your wretched Company.” 

“ Oh, you didn’t? ” 

“ No ; I meant Curzon Street.” 

“ It hardly lies in my mouth to blame Denni- 
son, or his wife either. If they’ve been foolish, 
so have I.” Adela looked at him as if she 
thought him profoundly unsatisfactory. He 
89 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

was vaguely conscious of her depreciation, and 
added, 44 Ruston’s not a rogue, you know.” 

“ No. If I thought he was, I shouldn’t be 
going to take shares in Omofaga.” 

44 You’re not? ” 

44 Oh, but I am ! ” 

44 Another spinster lady on my conscience ! 
T shall certainly end in the dock ! ” Lord Sem- 
ingham took his hat and shook hands. Just as 
he got to the door, he turned round, and, with 
an expression of deprecating helplessness, fired a 
last shot. 44 Ruston came to see Bessie the other 
day,” he said. 44 The new mantle she’s just in- 
vented is to be called — the Omofaga ! That is, 
unless she changes it because of the moor. I 
suggested the Pis-aller , but she didn’t see it. 
She never does, you know. Good-bye.” 

The moment he was gone, Adela put on her 
hat and drove to Curzon Street. She found 
Mrs. Dennison alone, and opened fire at once. 

44 What have you done, Maggie ? ” she cried, 
flinging her gloves on the table and facing her 
friend with accusing countenance. 

Mrs. Dennison was smelling a rose; she smelt 
it a little longer, and then replied with another 
question. 

44 Why can’t men hate quietly ? They must 
make a fuss. I can go on hating a woman for 
years and never show it.” 

90 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 


“We have the vices of servility,” said Adela. 

“ Harry is a melancholy sight,” resumed Mrs. 
Dennison. “ He spends his time looking for the 
blotting-paper ; Tom Loring used to keep it, you 
know.” 

Her tone deepened the expression of disap- 
proval on Adela’s face. 

“ I’ve never been so distressed about anything 
in my life,” said she. 

“ Oh, my dear, he’ll come back.” As she 
spoke a sudden mischievous smile spread over 
her face. “You should hear Berthe Cormack 
on it ! ” she said. 

“ I don’t want to hear Mrs. Cormack at all. 
I hate the woman — and I think that I — at any 
rate — show it.” 

It surprised Adela to find her friend in such 
excellent spirits. The air of listlessness which 
was apt to mar her manner, and even to some 
degree her appearance (for to look bored is not 
becoming), had entirely vanished. 

“You don’t seem very sorry about poor Mr. 
Loring,” Adela observed. 

“ Oh, I am ; but Mr. Loring can’t stop 
the wheels of the world. And it’s his own 
fault.” 

Adela sighed. It did not seem of consequence 
whose fault it was. 

“ I don’t think I care much about the wheels 
91 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

of the world,” she said. 44 How are the children, 
Maggie? ” 

44 Oh, splendid, and in great glee about the sea- 
side ” — and Mrs. Dennison laughed. 

44 And about losing Tom Loring? ” 

44 They cried at first.” 

44 Does anyone ever do anything more than 
4 cry at first ? ’ ” exclaimed Adela. 

44 Oh, my dear, don’t be tragical, or cynical, or 
whatever you are being,” said Maggie pettishly. 
44 Mr. Loring has chosen to be very silly, and 
there’s an end of it. Have you seen the pros- 
pectus? Do you know Mr. Ruston brought it 
to show me before it was submitted to Mr. Bel- 
ford and the others — the Board, I mean?” 

44 1 think you see quite enough of Mr. Rus- 
ton,” said Adela, putting up her glass and exam- 
ining Mrs. Dennison closely. She spoke coolly, 
but with a nervous knowledge of her presump- 
tion. 

Mrs. Dennison may have had a taste for diplo- 
macy and the other arts of government, but she 
was no diplomatist. She thought herself gravely 
wronged by Adela’s suggestion, and burst out 
angrily, 

44 Oh, you’ve been listening to Tom Loring ! ” 
and her heightened colour seemed not to agree 
with the idea that, if Adela had listened, Tom 
had talked of nothing but Omofaga. 44 1 don’t 
92 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 


mind it from Berthe,” Mrs. Dennison continued, 
“ but from you it’s too bad. I suppose he told 
you the whole thing? I declare I wasn’t dream- 
ing of anything of the kind ; I was just excited, 
and — ” 

“ I haven’t seen Mr. Loring,” put in Adela as 
soon as she could. 

44 Then how do you know — ? ” 

44 Lord Semingham told me you quarrelled 
with Mr. Loring about Omofaga.” 

44 Is that all? ” 

44 Yes. Maggie, was there any more ? ” 

44 Do you want to quarrel with me too ? ” 

44 1 believe Mr. Loring had good reasons.” 

44 You must believe what you like,” said Mrs. 
Dennison, tearing her rose to pieces. 44 Yes, 
there was some more.” 

44 What ? ” asked Adela, expecting to be told 
to mind her own business. 

Mrs. Dennison flung away the rose and began 
to laugh. 

44 He found me holding Willie Ruston’s hand 
and telling him I — liked Omofaga ! That’s all.” 

44 Holding his hand ! ” exclaimed Adela, jus- 
tifiably scandalised and hopelessly puzzled. 
44 What did you do that for ? ” 

44 1 don’t know,” said Mrs. Dennison. 44 It 
happened somehow as we were talking. We 
got interested, you know.” 

7 93 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Adela’s next question was also one at which it 
was possible to take offence ; but she was careless 
now whether offence w T ere taken or not. 

“ Are you and the children going to the sea- 
side soon ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” rejoined her friend, still smiling. 

“We shall soon be deep in pails and spades 
and bathing, and buckets and paddling, and a 
final charming walk with Harry in the moon- 
light.” 

As the sentence went on, the smile became 
more fixed and less pleasant. 

“You ought to be ashamed to talk like that,” 
said Adela. 

Mrs. Dennison walked up the room and down 
again. 

“ So I am,” she said, pausing to look down on 
Adela, and then resuming her walk. 

“ I wish to goodness this Omofaga affair — yes, 
and Mr. Ruston too — had never been invented. 
It seems to set us all wrong.” 

“ Wrong !” cried Mrs. Dennison. “Oh, yes, 
if it’s wrong to have something one can take a 
little interest in ! ” 

“You’re hopeless to-day, Maggie. I shall go 
away. What did you take his hand for ? ” 

“ Nothing. I tell you I was excited.” 

“ Well, I think he’s a man one ought to keep 
cool with.” 


94 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 


“ Oh, he’s cool enough. He’ll keep you cool.” 

“ But he didn’t — ” 

“ Oh, don’t — pray don’t ! ” cried Mrs. Dennison. 

Adela took her leave ; and, as luck would have 
it, opened the door just as Tom Loring was walk- 
ing downstairs with an enormous load of dusty 
papers in his hands. She pulled the door close 
behind her hastily, exclaiming, 

“ Why, I thought you’d gone ! ” 

“So you’ve heard ? I’m just putting things 
ship-shape. I go this evening.” 

“ W ell, I’m sorry — still, for your sake, I’m 
glad.” 

“Why?” 

“You may do something on your own account 
now.” 

“ I don’t want to do anything,” said Tom 
obstinately. 

“ Come and see me some day. I’ve forgiven 
you, you know.” 

“ So I will.” 

“ Mr. Loring, are you going to say good-bye 
to Maggie ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I suppose so.” Then he 
added, detecting Adela’s unexpressed hope, 
“ Oh, it’s not a bit of use, you know.” 

Adela passed on, and, later, Loring, having 
finished his work and being about to go, sought 
out Mrs. Dennison. 


95 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 You’re determined to go, are you ? ” she asked, 
with the air of one who surrenders before an in- 
explicable whim. 

44 Yes,” said Tom. 44 You know I must go.” 

“ Why?” 

44 I’m not a saint — nor a rogue ; if I were either, 
I might stay.” 

44 Or even if you were a sensible man,” sug- 
gested Maggie Dennison. 

44 Being merely an honest man, I think I’ll go. 
I’ve tried to put all Harry’s things right for him, 
and to make it as easy for him to get along as 
I can.” 

44 Can he find his papers and blue-books and 
things ? ” 

44 Oh, yes ; and I got abstracts ready on all the 
things he cares about.” 

44 He’ll miss you horribly. Ah, well ! ” 

44 1 suppose a little ; but, really, I think he’ll 
learn to get along — ” 

Mrs. Dennison interrupted with a laugh. 

44 Do you know,” she asked, 44 what you re- 
mind me of? Why, of a husband and wife 
separating, and wondering whether the children 
will miss poor papa — though poor papa insists 
on going, and mamma is sure he must.” 

44 1 never mentioned the children,” said Tom 
angrily. 

44 1 know you didn’t.” 

96 


ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 

Tom looked at her for an instant. 

“ Tor God’s sake,” said he, “ don’t let him see 
that ! ” 

“ Oh, how you twist things ! ” she cried in im- 
patient protest. 

lom only shook his head. The charge was 
not sincere. 

“ Good-bye, Tom,” she went on after a pause. 
“ I believe, some day or other, you’ll come back 
— or, at anyrate, come and live next door — 
instead of Berthe Cormack, you know. But I 
don’t know in what state you’ll find us.” 

“ I’d just like to tell you one thing, if I may,” 
said Tom, resolutely refusing to meet the 
softened look in her eyes with any answering 
friendliness. 

“Yes?” 

“ You’ve got one of the best fellows in the 
world for a husband.” 

“ Well, I know that, I suppose, at least as 
well as you do.” 

“ That’s all. Good-bye.” 

Without more he left her. She drew the 
window- curtain aside and watched him get into 
his cab and be driven away. The house was very 
still. Her husband was in his place at West- 
minster, and the children had gone to a party. 
She went upstairs to the nursery hoping to find 
something to criticise; then to Harry’s dressing- 
97 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


room, where she filled his pin-cushion with pins 
and put fresh water to the flowers in the vase. 
She could find no other offices of wife or mother 
to do, and she presently found herself looking 
into Tom’s room, which was very bare and deso- 
late, stripped of the homelike growth of a five 
years’ tenancy. Her excitement was over; she 
felt terribly like a child after a tantrum; she 
flung open the window of the room and stood 
listening to the noise of the town. It was the 
noise of happy people, who had plenty to do ; or 
of happier still, who did not want to do any- 
thing, and thus found content. She turned 
away and walked downstairs with a step as heavy 
as physical weariness brings with it. It came as 
a curious aggravation — light itself, but gaining 
weight from its surroundings — that, for once in a 
way, she had no engagements that evening. All 
the tide seemed to be flowing by, leaving her 
behind high and dry on the shore. Even the 
children had their party, even Harry his toy at 
Westminster; and Willie Ruston was working 
might and main to give a good start to Omofaga. 
Only of her had the world no need — and no 
heed. 


98 


CHAPTER VIII 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 

Had Lord Semingham and Harry Dennison 
taken an opportunity which many persons would 
have thought that they had a right to take, they 
might have shifted the burden of the Barons 
douceur and of sundry other not trifling expenses 
on to the shoulders of the public, and enjoyed 
their moors that year after all; for at the begin- 
ning Omofaga obtained such a moderate and 
reasonable “ boom ” as would have enabled them 
to perform the operation known as 44 unloading ” 
(and literary men must often admire the terse 
and condensed expressiveness of 4 4 City ” meta- 
phors) with much profit to themselves. But 
either they conceived this course of conduct to 
be beneath them, or they were so firm of faith 
in Mr. Huston that they stood to their guns and 
their shares, and took their seats at the Board, 
over which Mr. Foster Belford magniloquently 
presided, still possessed of the strongest personal 
interest in the success of Omofaga. Lady Sem- 
ingham, having been made aware that Omofaga 
shares were selling at forty shillings apiece, was 
quite unable to understand why Alfred and Mr. 

99 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Dennison did not sell all they had, and thereby 
procure moors or whatever else they wanted. 
Willie Ruston had to be sent for again, and 
when he told her that the same shares would 
shortly be worth five pounds (which he did with 
the most perfect confidence), she was equally at 
a loss to see why they were on sale to anybody 
who chose to pay forty shillings. Ruston, who 
liked to make everybody a convert to his own 
point of view, spent the best part of an after- 
noon conversing with the little lady, but, when 
he came away, he left her placidly admiring the 
Omofaga mantle which had just arrived from 
the milliner’s, and promised to create an im- 
mense sensation. 

44 1 believe she’s all gown,” said he despairing- 
ly, at the Valentine’s in the evening. 44 If you 
undressed her there’d be no one there.” 

“Well, there oughtn’t to be many people,” 
said young Sir Walter, with a hearty laugh at 
his boyish joke. 

44 Walter, how can you ! ” cried Marjory. 

This little conversation, trivial though it be, 
has its importance, as indicating the very re- 
markable change which had occurred in young 
Sir Walter. There at least Ruston had made a 
notable convert, and he had effected this result 
by the simple but audacious device of offering 
to take Sir Walter with him to Omofaga. Sir 
100 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 

Walter was dazzled. Between spending an- 
other year or two at Oxford in statu pupillari, 
vexed by schools and disciplined by proctors — 
between being required to be in by twelve at 
night and unable to visit London without per- 
mission — between this unfledged state and the 
position of a man among the men who were in 
the vanguard of the empire there rolled a flood ; 
and the flood was mighty enough to sweep 
away all young Sir Walter's doubts about Mr. 
Ruston being a gentleman, to obliterate Evan 
Haselden’s sneers, to uproot his influence — in a 
word, to transform that youthful legislator from 
a paragon of wisdom and accomplishments into 
“ a good chap, but rather a lot of side on, you 
know.” 

Marjory, having learnt from literature that 
hers was supposed to be the fickle sex, might 
well open her eyes and begin to feel very sorry 
indeed for poor Evan Haselden. But she also 
was under the spell and hailed the sun of glory 
rising for her brother out of the mists of Omo- 
faga; and if poor Lady Valentine shed some 
tears before Willie Ruston convinced her of 
the rare chance it was for her only boy — and a 
few more after he had so convinced her — why, it 
would be lucky if these were the only tears lost 
in the process of developing Omofaga; for it 
seems that great enterprises must always be 
101 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


watered by the tears of mothers and nourished 
on the blood of sons. Sic fortis Etruria crevit . 

One or two other facts may here be chronicled 
about Omofaga. There were three great meet- 
ings ; one at the Cannon Street Hotel, purely 
commercial ; another at the Westminster Town 
Hall, commercial-political; a third at Exeter 
Hall, commercial-religious. They were all very 
successful, and, taken together, were considered 
to cover the ground pretty completely. The 
most unlike persons and the most disparate 
views found a point of union in Omofaga. 
Adela Ferrars put three thousand pounds into 
it, Lady Valentine a thousand. Mr. Carlin finally 
disposed of the coal business, and his wife 
dreamt of the workhouse all night and scolded 
herself for her lack of faith all the morning. 
W illie Ruston spoke of being off in five months, 
and Sir Walter immediately bought a complete 
up-country outfit. 

Suddenly there was a cloud. Omofaga began 
to be “ written down,” in the most determined 
and able manner. The anonymous detractor- 
in such terms did Mr. Foster Belford refer to the 
writer — used the columns of a business paper of 
high standing, and his letters, while preserving a 
judicial and temperate tone, were uncompromis- 
ingly hostile and exceedingly damaging. A 
large part of Omofaga (he said) had not been ex- 
102 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 

plored, indeed, nobody knew exactly what was 
and what was not Omofaga; let the shareholders 
get what comfort they could out of that; but, so 
far as Omofaga had been explored, it had been 
proved to be barren of all sources of wealth. 
The writer grudgingly admitted that it might 
feed a certain head of cattle, though he hastened 
to add that the flies were fatal all the hot months ; 
but as for gold, or diamonds, or any such things 
as companies most love, there were none, and if 
there were, they could not be won, and if they 
could be won no European could live to win 
them. It was a timid time on the markets then, 
and people took fright easily. In a few days 
any temptation that might have assailed Lord 
Semingham and Harry Dennison lost its power. 
Omofagas were far below par, and Lady Sem- 
ingham was entreating her husband to buy all 
he could against the hour when they should 
be worth five pounds apiece, because, as she 
said, Mr. Ruston was quite sure that they were 
going to be, and who knew more about it than 
Mr. Ruston ? 

It was just about this time that Tom Loring, 
who had vanished completely for a week or two 
after his departure from Curzon Street, came up 
out of the depths and called on Adela Ferrars in 
Queen’s Gate ; and her first remark showed that 
she was a person of some perspicacity. 

103 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Isn’t this rather small of you ? ” she asked, 
putting on her eyeglasses and finding an article 
which she indicated. “You may not like him, 
but still — ” 

“ How like a woman ! ” said Tom Loring in 
the tone of a man who expects and, on the whole, 
welcomes, ill-usage. “ How did you know it 
was mine ? ” 

“ It’s so like that article of Harry Dennison’s. 
I think you might put your name, anyhow. ” 

“ Yes, and rob what I say of all weight. Who 
knows my name ? ” 

Adela felt an impulse to ask him angrily why 
nobody knew his name, but she inquired in- 
stead what he thought he knew about Omo- 
faga. She put this question in a rather offen- 
sive tone. 

It appeared that Tom Loring knew a great 
deal about Omofaga, all, in fact, that there was 
to be learnt from blue-books, consular reports, 
gazetteers, travels, and other heavy works of a 
like kind. 

“You’ve been moling in the British Museum,” 
cried Adela accusingly. 

Tom admitted it without the least shame. 

“ I knew this thing was a fraud and the man 
a fraud, and I determined to show him up if I 
could,” said he. 

“ It’s because you hate him.” 

104 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 

“Then it’s lucky for the British investor that 
I do hate him.” 

“ It’s not lucky for me,” said Adela. 

“You don’t mean to say you’ve been — ” 

“Fool enough? Yes, I have. No, don’t 
quarrel again. It won’t ruin me, anyhow. Are 
the things you say really true ? ” 

Tom replied by another question. 

“ Do you think I’d write ’em if I didn’t believe 
they were ? ” 

“No, but you might believe they were because 
you hate him.” 

Tom seemed put out at this idea. It is not 
one that generally suggests itself to a man when 
his own views are in question. 

“ I admit I began because I hate him,” he said, 
with remarkable candour, after a moment’s con- 
sideration ; “ but, by Jove, as I went on I found 
plenty of justification. Look here, you mustn’t 
tell anyone I’m writing them.” 

Tom looked a little embarrassed as he made 
this request. 

Adela hesitated for a moment. She did not 
like the request either. 

“ No, I won’t,” she said at last; and she added, 
“ I’m beginning to think I hate him, too. He’s 
turning me into an hospital.” 

“ What?” 

“ People he wounds come to me. Old Lady 

105 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Valentine came and cried because Walters 
going to Omofaga ; and Evan came and — well, 
swore because Walter worships Mr. Ruston ; and 
Harry Dennison came and looked bewildered, 
and — you know — because — oh, because of you, 
and so on.” 

“ And now I come, don’t I ? ” 

“Yes, and now you.” 

“ And has Mrs. Dennison come ? ” asked Tom, 
with a look of disconcerting directness. 

“No,” snapped Adela, and she looked at the 
floor, whereupon Tom diverted his eyes from her 
and stared at the ceiling. 

Presently he searched in his waistcoat pocket 
and brought out a little note. 

“ Read that,” he said, a world of disgust in his 
tone. 

“ 4 1 told you so. — B. C.,’ ” read Adela. “ Oh, 
it’s that Cormack woman ! ” she cried. 

“You see what it means? She means I’ve 
been got rid of in order that — ” Tom stopped, 
and brought his clenched fist down on his opened 
palm. “ If I thought it, I’d shoot the fellow,” 
he ended. 

He looked at her for the answer to his unex- 
pressed question. 

Adela turned the pestilential note over and 
over in her fingers, handling it daintily as though 
it might stain. 


106 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 


44 I don’t think he means it,” she said at last, 
without trying to blink the truth of Tom’s inter- 
pretation. 

Tom rose and began to walk about. 

44 Women beat me,” he broke out. 44 1 don’t 
understand ’em. How should I ? I’m not one 
of these fellows who catch women’s fancy — thank 
God ! ” 

“If you continue to dislike the idea, you’ll 
probably manage to escape the reality,” observed 
Adela, and her tone, for some reason or other — 
perhaps merely through natural championship 
of her sex — was rather cold and her manner 
stiff. 

44 Oh, some women are all right;” and Adela 
acknowledged the concession with a satirical bow. 
4 4 Look here, can’t you help ? ” he burst out. 
44 Tell her what a brute he is.” 

44 Oh, you do not understand women ! ” 

44 Well, then, I shall tell Dennison. He won’t 
stand nonsense of that kind.” 

44 You’ll deserve horsewhipping if you do,” re- 
marked Adela. 

44 Then what am I to do ? ” 

44 Nothing. In fact, Mr. Loring, you have no 
genius for delicate operations.” 

44 Of course I’m a fool.” 

Adela played with her pince-nez for a minute 
or two, put it on, looked at him, and then said, 
107 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

with just a touch of unwonted timidity in her 
voice, 

“ Anyhow, you happen to be a gentleman. ” 

Poor Tom had been a good deal buffeted of 
late, and a friendly stroking was a pleasant change. 
He looked up with a smile, but as he looked up 
Adela looked away. 

“ I think I’ll stop those articles,” said he. 

“ Yes, do,” she cried, a bright smile on her face. 

“ They’ve pretty well done their work, too.” 

“ Don’t ! Don’t spoil it ! But — but don’t you 
get money for them ? ” 

Tom was in better humour now. He held out 
his hand with his old friendly smile. 

“Oh, wait till I am in the workhouse, and 
then you shall take me out. ” 

“ I don’t believe I did mean that,” protested 
Adela. 

“You always mean everything that — that the 
best woman in the world could mean,” and Tom 
wrung her hand and disappeared. 

Adela’s hand was rather crushed and hurt, and 
for a moment she stood regarding it ruefully. 

“ I thought he was going to kiss it,” she said. 
“ One of those fellows who take women’s fancy, 
perhaps, would have! And — and it wouldn’t 
have hurt so much. Ah, well, I’m very glad 
he’s going to stop the articles.” 

And the articles did stop ; and perhaps things 
108 


CONVERTS AND HERETICS 

might have fallen out worse than that an honest 
man, driven hard by bitterness, should do a use- 
ful thing from a doubtful motive, and having 
done just enough of it, should repent and sin 
no more ; for unquestionably the articles pre- 
vented a great many persons from paying an 
unduly high price for Omofaga shares. This 
line of thought seems defensible, but it was 
not Adela’s. She rejoiced purely that Tom 
should turn away from the doubtful thing; and 
if Tom had been a man of greater acuteness, it 
would have struck him as worthy of note, per- 
haps even of gratification, that Miss Adela Fer- 
rars should care so much whether he did or did 
not do doubtful things. But then Miss Ferrars 
— for it seems useless to keep her secret any 
longer, the above recorded interview having some- 
what impaired its mystery — was an improbably 
romantic person — such are to be met even at an 
age beyond twenty-five — and was very naturally 
ashamed of her weakness. People often are 
ashamed of being better than their surroundings. 
Being better they feel better, and feeling better 
they feel priggish, and then they try not to be 
better, and happily fail. So Adela was very 
shamefaced over her ideal, and would as soon 
have thought of preaching on a platform — of 
which practice she harboured a most bigoted hor- 
ror — as of proclaiming the part that love must 
8 109 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


play in her marriage. The romantic resolve lay 
snug in its hidden nest, sheltered from cold gusts 
of ridicule by a thick screen of worldly sayings, 
and, when she sent away a suitor, of worldly- 
wise excuses. Thus no one suspected it, not 
even Tom Loring, although he thought her 4 4 the 
best of women a form of praise, by the way, 
that gave the lady honoured by it less pleasure 
than less valuable commendation might have 
done. Why best? Why not most charming ? 
Well, probably because he thought the one and 
didn’t think the other. She was the best ; but 
there was another whose doings and whose peril 
had robbed Tom Loring of his peace, and made 
him do the doubtful thing. Why had he done 
it ? Or (and Adela smiled mockingly at this 
resurrection of the Old Woman), if he did do it, 
why did he do it for Maggie Dennison? She 
didn’t believe he would ever do a doubtful thing 
for her. For that she loved him; but perhaps 
she would have loved him — well, not less — if he 
did ; for how she would forgive him ! 

After half an hour of this kind of thing — it 
was her own summary of her meditations — she 
dressed, went out to dinner, sat next Evan Has- 
elden, and said cynical things all the evening; 
so that, at last, Evan told her that she had no 
more feeling than a mummified Methodist. This 
was exactly what she wanted. 

no 


CHAPTER IX 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 

The Right Honourable Foster Belford, although 
not, like Mr. Pitt, famous for “ ruining Great 
Britain gratis” — perhaps merely from want of the 
opportunity — had yet not made a fortune out of 
political life, and it had suggested a pleasant ad- 
dition to his means, when Willie Ruston offered 
him the chairmanship of the Omofaga Company, 
with the promise of a very comfortable yearly 
honorarium. He accepted the post with alac- 
rity, but without undue gratitude, for he con- 
sidered himself well worth the price ; and the 
surprising fact is that he was well worth it. He 
bulked large to the physical and mental view. 
His colleagues in the Cabinet had taken a year 
or two to find out his limits, and the public had 
not found them out yet. Therefore he was not 
exactly a fool. On the other hand, the limits 
were certainly there, and so there was no danger 
of his developing an inconvenient greatness. As 
has been previously hinted, he enjoyed Harry 
Dennison’s entire confidence ; and he could be 
relied upon not to understand Lord Semingham’s 
irreverence. Thus his appointment did good to 
ill 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


the Omofaga as well as to himself, and only the 
initiated winked when Willie Ruston hid him- 
self behind this imposing figure and pulled the 
strings. 

“ The best of it is,” Ruston remarked to Sem- 
ingham, “that you and Carlin will have the 
whole thing in your own hands when I’ve gone 
out. Belford won’t give you any trouble.” 

“ But, my dear fellow, I don’t want it all in 
my hands. I want to grow rich out of it with- 
out any trouble.” 

Ruston twisted his cigar in his mouth. The 
prospect of immediate wealth flowing in from 
Omofaga was, as Lord Semingham knew very 
well, not assured. 

“ Loring’s stopped hammering us,” said Rus- 
ton; “ that’s one thing.” 

“ Oh, you found out he wrote them ? ” 

“Yes; and uncommonly well he did it, con- 
found him. I wish we could get that fellow. 
There’s a good deal in him.” 

“You see,” observed Lord Semingham, “he 
doesn’t like you. I don’t know that you went 
the right way about to make him.” 

The remark sounded blunt, but Semingham 
had learnt not to waste delicate phrases on 
Willie Ruston. 

“Well, I didn’t know he was worth the 
trouble/’ 


112 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 


“ One path to greatness is said to be to make 
no enemies.” 

“ A very roundabout one, I should think. I’m 
going to make a good many enemies in Omo- 
faga.” 

Lord Semingham suddenly rose, put on his 
hat, and left the offices of the Company. Mrs. 
Dennison had, a little while ago, complained to 
him that she ate, drank, breathed and wore 
Omofaga. He had detected the insincerity of 
her complaint, but he was becoming inclined to 
echo it in all genuineness on his own account. 
There were moments when he wondered how 
and why he had allowed this young man to lead 
him so far and so deep ; moments when a convul- 
sion of Nature, redistributing Africa and blotting 
out Omofaga, would have left him some thou- 
sands of pounds poorer in purse, but appreciably 
more cheerful in spirit. Perhaps matters would 
mend when the Local Administrator had de- 
parted to his local administration, and only the 
mild shadow of him which bore the name of 
Carlin trod the boards of Queen Street, Cheap- 
side. Ruston began to be oppressive. The rest- 
less energy and domineering mind of the man 
wearied Semingham’s indolent and dilettante 
spirit, and he hailed the end of the season as an 
excellent excuse for putting himself beyond the 
reach of his colleague for a few weeks. Yet the 
113 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


more he quailed, the more he trusted ; and when 
a very great man, holding a very great office, 
met him in the House of Lords, and expressed 
the opinion that when the Company and Mr. 
Ruston went to Omofaga they would find them- 
selves in a pretty hornets’ nest, Lord Semingham 
only said that he should be sorry for the hornets. 

“ Don’t ask us to fetch your man out for you, 
that’s all,” said the very great man. 

And for an instant Lord Semingham, still 
feeling that load upon his shoulders, fancied 
that it would be far from his heart to prefer 
such a request. There might be things less just 
and fitting than that Willie Ruston and those 
savage tribes of Omofaga should be left to fight 
out the quarrel by themselves, the civilised world 
standing aloof. And the dividends — well, of 
course, there were the dividends, but Lord Sem- 
ingham had in his haste forgotten them. 

“ Ah, you don’t know Ruston,” said he, shak- 
ing a forefinger at the great man. 

“ Don’t I ? He came every day to my office 
for a fortnight.” 

“ Wanted something ? ” 

“Yes, he wanted something, certainly, or he 
wouldn’t have come, you know.” 

“ Got it, I suppose ? ” asked Lord Semingham, 
in a tone curiously indicative of resignation 
rather than triumph. 


114 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 


“ W ell, yes ; I did, at last, not without hesita- 
tion, accede to his request.” 

Then Lord Semingham, with no apparent ex- 
cuse, laughed in the face of the great man, left 
the House (much in the same sudden way as he 
had left Queen Street, Cheapside), and passed 
rapidly through the lobbies till he reached 
Westminster Hall. Here he met a young man, 
clad to perfection, but looking sad. It was Evan 
Haselden. With a sense of relief at meeting no 
one of heavier metal, Semingham stopped him 
and began to talk. Evan’s melancholy air en- 
veloped his answers in a mist of gloom. More- 
over there was a large streak on his hat, where 
the nap had been rubbed the wrong way ; evi- 
dently he was in trouble. Presently he seized 
his friend by the arm, and proposed a walk in 
the Park. 

“But are you paired?” asked Semingham; 
for an important division was to occur that day 
in the Commons. 

“ No,” said Evan fiercely. “ Come along ; ” 
and Lord Semingham went, exclaiming in- 
wardly, “ A girl ! ” 

“I’m the most miserable devil alive,” said Evan, 
as they left the Horse Guards on the right hand. 

Semingham put up his eyeglass. 

“ I’ve always regarded you as the favourite of 
fortune,” he said. “ What’s the matter? ” 

115 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


The matter unfolded itself some half-hour 
after they had reached the Row and sat down. 
It came forth with difficulty ; pride obstructed 
the passage, and something better than pride 
made the young man diffuse in the telling of his 
trouble. Lord Semingham grew very grave in- 
deed. Let who would laugh at happy lovers, 
he had a groan for the unfortunate — a groan 
with reservations. 

“ She said she liked me very much, but didn’t 
feel — didn’t, you know, look up to me enough, 
and so on,” said poor Evan in puzzled pain. “ I 
— I can’t think what’s come over her. She used 
to be quite different. I don’t know what she 
means by talking like that.” 

Lord Semingham played a tune on his knee 
with the fingers of one hand. He was waiting. 

“ Young Val’s gone back on me too,” moaned 
Evan, who took the brother’s deposal of him 
hardly more easily than the sister’s rejection. 
Suddenly he brightened up ; a smile, but a bitter 
one, gleamed across his face. 

“I think I’ve put one spoke in his wheel, 
though,” he said. 

“ Ruston’s?” inquired Semingham, still play- 
ing his tune. 

“Yes. A fortnight ago, old Detchmore” 
(Lord Detchmore was the very great man be- 
fore referred to) “ asked me if I knew Loring. 

116 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 


You know Ruston’s been trying to get Detch- 
more to back him up in making a railway to 
Omofaga ? ” 

“ I didn’t know,” said Lord Semingham, with 
an unmoved face. 

“ You’re a director, aren’t you ? ” 

“ Yes. Go on, my dear boy.” 

“ And Detchmore had seen Loring’s articles. 
Well, I took Tom to him, and we left him quite 
decided to have nothing to do with it. Oh, by 
Jove, though, I forgot; I suppose you’d be on 
the other side there, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ I suppose I should, but it doesn’t matter.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Because I fancy Ruston’s got what he 
wanted ; ” and Lord Semingham related what he 
had heard from the Earl of Detchmore. 

Evan listened in silence, and, the tale ended, 
the two lay back in their chairs, and idly looked 
at the passing carriages. At last Lord Seming- 
ham spoke. 

“ He’s going to Omofaga in a few months,” 
he observed. “And, Evan, you don’t mean 
that he’s your rival at the Valentines’ ? ” 

“I’m not so sure, confound him. You know 
how pretty she is.” 

Semingham knew that she was pretty; but he 
also knew r that she was poor, and thought that 
she was, if not too insipid (for he recognised the 
117 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


unusual taste of his own mind), at least too im- 
mature to carry Willie Ruston off his feet, and 
into a love affair that promised no worldly gain. 

“ I asked Mrs. Dennison what she thought,” 
pursued Evan. 

“ Oh, you did ? ” 

“ But the idea seemed quite a new one to her. 
That’s good, you know. I expect she’d have 
noticed if he’d shown any signs.” 

Lord Semingham thought it very likely. 

“Anyhow,” Evan continued, “Marjory’s aw- 
fully keen about him.” 

“ He’ll be in Omofaga in three or four 
months,” Semingham repeated. It was all the 
consolation he could offer. 

Presently Evan got up and strode away. 
Lord Semingham sat on, musing on the strange 
turmoil the coming of the man had made in the 
little corner of the world he dwelt in. He was 
reminded of what was said concerning Lord 
Byron by another poet. They all felt Ruston. 
His intrusion into the circle had changed all the 
currents, so that sympathy ran no longer between 
old friends, and hearts answered to a new stimu- 
lus. Some he attracted, some he repelled ; none 
did he leave alone. From great to small his in- 
fluence ran ; from the expulsion of Tom Loring 
to the christening of the Omofaga mantle. 
Semingham had an acute sense of the absurdity 
118 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 


of it all, but he had seen absurd things happen too 
often to be much relieved by his intuition. And 
when absurd things happen, they have conse- 
quences just as other things have. And the most 
exasperating fact was the utter unconsciousness 
of the disturber. He had no mystery-airs, no 
graces, no seeming fascinations. He was relent- 
lessly business-like, unsentimental, downright; 
he took it all as a matter of course. He did not 
pry for weak spots. He went right on — on and 
over — and seemed not to know when he was 
going over. A very Juggernaut indeed! Sem- 
ingham thanked Adela for teaching him the 
word. 

He was suddenly roused by the merry laughter 
of children. Three or four little ones were scam- 
pering along the path in the height of glee. As 
they came up, he recognised them. He had seen 
them once before. They were Carlin’s children. 
Five there were, he counted now; three ran 
ahead ; two little girls held each a hand of Willie 
Ruston’s, who was laughing as merrily as his 
companions. The whole group knew Seming- 
ham, and the eldest child was by his knees in a 
moment. 

“ We’ve been to the Exhibition,” she cried 
exultantly; “and now Willie — Mr. Ruston, I 
mean — is taking us to have ices in Bond Street.” 

“ A human devil ! ” said the astonished man 
119 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


to himself, as Willie Ruston plumped down 
beside him, imploring a brief halt, and earnestly 
asseverating that his request was in good faith, 
and concealed no lurking desire to evade the ices. 

“ I met young Haselden as we came along,” 
Ruston observed, wiping his brow. 

“ Ah ! Yes, he’s been with me.” 

The children had wandered a few yards off, 
and stood impatiently looking at their hero. 

“ He’s had a bit of a facer, I fancy,” pursued 
Willie Ruston. “ Heard about it ? ” 

“ Something.” 

“ It’ll come all right, I should think,” said 
Ruston, in a comfortably careless tone. “ He’s 
not a bad fellow, you know, though he’s not 
over- appreciative of me.” Lord Semingham 
found no comment. “I hear you’re going to 
Dieppe next week ? ” asked Ruston. 

“ Yes. My wife and Mrs. Dennison have put 
their heads together, and fixed on that. You 
know we’re economising.” 

Ruston laughed. 

“ I suppose you are, ” he said through his white 
teeth. The idea seemed to amuse him. “We 
may meet there. I’ve promised to run over for 
a few days if I can.” 

“ The deuce you have ! ” would have expressed 
his companion’s feelings; but Lord Semingham 
only said, “ Oh, really ? ” 

120 


AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 

“ All right, I m coming directly,” Ruston cried 
a moment later to his young friends, and, with 
a friendly nod, he rose and went on his way. 
Lord Semingham watched the party till it dis- 
appeared through the Park gates, hearing in turn 
the children s shrill laugh and Willie Ruston’s 
deeper notes. The effect of the chance meeting 
was to make his fancies and his fancied feelings 
look still more absurd. That he perceived at 
once; the devil appeared so very human in such 
a mood and such surroundings. Yet that attri- 
bute — that most demoniac attribute — of ubiquity 
loomed larger and larger. For not even a foreign 
land — not even a watering-place of pronounced 
frivolity — was to be a refuge. The man was 
coming to Dieppe! And on whose bidding? 
Semingham had no doubt on whose bidding; 
and, out of the airy forms of those absurd fancies, 
there seemed to rise a more material shape, a 
reality, a fabric not compounded wholly of 
dreams, but mixed of stuff that had made human 
comedies and human tragedies since the world 
began. Mrs. Dennison had bidden Willie Rus- 
ton to Dieppe. That was Semingham’s instant 
conclusion ; she had bidden him, not merely by 
a formal invitation, or by a simple acquiescence, 
but by the will and determination which pos- 
sessed her to be of his mind and in his schemes. 
And perhaps Evan Haselden’s innocent asking 
121 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


of her views had carried its weight also. For 
nearly an hour Semingham sat and mused. For 
awhile he thought he would act ; but how should 
he act ? And why ? And to what end ? Since 
what must be must, and in vain do we meddle 
with fate. An easy, almost eager, recognition 
of the inevitable in the threatened, of the neces- 
sary in everything that demanded effort for its 
avoidance, had stamped his life and grown deep 
into his mind. Wherefore now, faced with pos- 
sibilities that set his nerves on edge, and wrung 
his heart for good friends, he found nothing 
better to do than shrug his shoulders and thank 
God that his own wife’s submission to the man 
went no deeper than the inside lining of that 
famous Omofaga mantle, nor his own than the 
bottom, or near the bottom, of his trousers’ 
pocket. 

“ Though that, in faith, ” he exclaimed ruefully, 
as at last he rose, “is, in this world of ours, 
pretty deep ! ” 


122 


CHAPTER X 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 

The Dennison children, after a two nights’ ban- 
ishment, had come down to dessert again. They 
had been in sore disgrace, caused (it was stated 
to Mrs. Cormack, who had been invited to dine 
en famille) by a grave breach of hospitality and 
good manners which Madge had led the younger 
ones — who tried to look plaintively innocent — 
into committing. 

The Carlin children had come to tea, and a 
great dissension had arisen between the two 
parties. The Carlins had belauded the generous 
donor of ices ; Madge had taken up the cudgels 
fiercely on Tom Loring’s behalf, and Dora and 
Alfred had backed her up. Each side proceeded 
from praise of its own favourite to sneers — by no 
means covert — at the other’s man, and the feud 
had passed from the stage of words to that of 
deeds before it was discovered by the superior 
powers and crushed. On the hosts of course, 
the blame had to fall; they were sent to bed 
while the guests drove off in triumph, comforted 
by sweets and shillings. Madge did not think, 
or pretend to think, that this was justice, and 
123 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


her mother s recital of her crimes to Mrs. Cor- 
mack, so far from reducing her to penitence, 
brought back to her cheeks and eyes the glow 
they had worn when she slapped (there is no use 
in blinking facts) Jessie Carlin, and told her that 
she hated Mr. Ruston. Madge Dennison was 
like her mother in face and temper. That may 
have been the reason why Harry Dennison 
squeezed her hand under the table, and by his 
tacit aid broke the force of his wife’s cold reproofs. 
But there was perhaps another reason also. 

Mrs. Cormack said that she was shocked, and 
looked very much amused. The little history 
made up for the bore of having the children 
brought in. That was a thing she objected to 
very much ; it stopped all rational conversation. 
But now her curiosity was stirred. 

“ Why don’t you like Mr. Ruston, my child ? ” 
she asked Madge. 

“ I don’t dislike him,” said Madge, rosy red, 
and speaking with elaborate slowness. She said 
it as though it were a lesson she had learnt. 

“ But why, then,” said Mrs. Cormack, whirl- 
ing her hands, “ beat the little Carlin? ” 

“ That was before mamma told me,” answered 
Madge, the two younger ones sitting by, open- 
mouthed, to hear her explanation. 

“ Oh, what an obedient child ! How I should 
have liked a little girl like you, darling ! ” 

124 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


Madge hated sarcasm, and her feelings tow- 
ards Airs. Cormack reflected those of her idol, 
Tom Loring. 

“ 1 don’t know what you mean, ’’she said curt- 
ly ; and then she looked anxiously at her mother. 

But Mrs. Dennison was smiling. 

“ Let her alone, Berthe,” she said. “ She’s 
been punished. Give her some fruit, Harry.” 

Harry Dennison piled up the plate eagerly 
held out to him. 

“ Who’ll give you fruit at Dieppe ? ” he asked, 
stroking his daughter’s hair. 

Mrs. Cormack pricked up her ears. 

“ Didn’t we tell you?” asked Mrs. Dennison. 
“ Harry can’t come for a fortnight. That tire- 
some old Sir George” (Sir George was the sen- 
ior partner in Dennison, Sons & Company) “ is 
down with the gout, and Harry’s got to stay in 
town. But I’ll give Madge fruit — if she’s good.” 

“ Papa gives it me anyhow,” said Madge, who 
preferred unconditional benefits. 

Harry laughed dolefully. He had been look- 
ing forward to a holiday with his children. 
Their uninterrupted society would have easily 
consoled him for the loss of the moor. 

“ It’s an awful bore, ” he said ; “ but there’s 
no help for it. Sir George can’t put a foot to 
the ground.” 

“Anyhow,” suggested Mrs. Cormack, “you 
9 125 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

will be able to help Mr. Ruston with the Omo- 
faga.” 

“ Papa,” broke out Madge, her face bright 
with a really happy idea, which must, she thought, 
meet with general acceptance, “ since you can’t 
come, why shouldn’t Tom ? ” 

Mrs. Cormack grew more amused. Oh, it 
was quite worth while to have the children! 
They were so good at saying things one couldn’t 
say oneself ; and then one could watch the ef- 
fect. In an impulse of gratitude, she slid a ba- 
nana on to Madge’s plate. 

“ Marjory Valentine’s coming,” said Mrs. Den- 
nison. “ You like her, don’t you, Madge” 

“ She’s a girl,” said Madge scornfully ; and 
Harry, with a laugh, stroked her hair again. 

“You’re a little flirt,” said he. 

“ But why can’t Tom ? ” persisted Madge, as 
she attacked the banana. It was Mrs. Cor- 
mack’s gift, but — non olet. 

For a moment nobody answered. Then Har- 
ry Dennison said — not in the least as though he 
believed it, or expected anybody else to believe 
it— 

“ Tom’s got to stay and work.” 

“ Have all the gentlemen we know got to 
stay and work ? ” 

Harry nodded assent. 

Mrs. Cormack was leaning forward. A mo- 
126 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


ment later she sank back, hiding a smile behind 
her napkin; for Madge observed, in a tone of 
utter contentment, 

“Oh, then, Mr. Ruston won’t come;” and 
she wagged her head reassuringly at the open- 
mouthed little ones. They were satisfied, and 
fell again to eating. 

After a few moments, Mrs. Dennison, who 
had made no comment on her daughter’s infer- 
ence, swept the flock oft* to bed, praying Berthe 
to excuse her temporary absence. It was her 
habit to go upstairs with them when possible, 
and Harry would see that coffee came. 

“ Poor Madge ! ” said Harry, when the door 
was shut, “ what’ll she say when Ruston turns 
up?” 

“ Then he does go ? ” 

“I think so. We’d asked him to stay with 
us, and though he can’t do that now, he and 
young Walter Valentine talk of running over 
for a few days. I hope they will.” 

Mrs. Cormack, playing with her teaspoon, 
glanced at her host out of the corner of her eye. 

“ He can go all the better, as I shall be here,” 
continued Harry. “ I can look after Omofaga.” 

Mrs. Cormack rapped the teaspoon sharply on 
her cup. The man was such a fool. Harry, 
dimly recognising her irritation, looked up in- 
quiringly ; but she hesitated before she spoke. 

127 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Would it spoil sport or make sport if she stirred 
a suspicion in him ? A thought threw its weight 
in the balance. Maggie Dennison’s friendship 
had been a trifle condescending, and the grate- 
ful friend pictured her under the indignity of 
enforced explanations, of protests, even of orders 
to alter her conduct. But how would Harry 
take a hint? There were men silly enough to 
resent such hints. Caution was the word. 

“Well, I almost wish he wasn’t going,” she 
said at last. “ For Maggie’s sake, I mean. She 
wants a complete rest.” 

“ Oh, but she likes him. He amuses her. 
Why, she’s tremendously interested in Omofaga, 
Mrs. Cormack.” 

“ Ah, but he excites her too. We poor women 
have nerves, Mr. Dennison. It would be much 
better for her to hear nothing of Omofaga for a 
few weeks.” 

“ Has she been talking to you much about it? ” 
asked Harry, beginning to feel anxious at his 
guest’s immensely solemn tone. 

Indeed, little Mrs. Cormack spoke for the 
nonce quite like a family physician. 

“Oh, yes, about it and him,” she replied. 
“ She’s never off the subject. Mr. Loring was 
half right.” 

“ Tom’s objections were based on quite other 
grounds.” 


128 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


“Oh, were they really? I thought — Well, 
anyhow, Mr. Ruston being there will do her no 
good. She’ll like it immensely, of course.” 

Harry Dennison rubbed his hand over his 
chin. 

“ I see what you mean, ” he said. “ Y es, she’d 
have been better away from everything. But 
I can’t object to Ruston going. I asked him 
myself.” 

“Yes, when you were going.” 

“ That makes no difference.” 

Mrs. Cormack said nothing. She tapped her 
spoon against the cup once more. 

“ Why, we should have talked all the more 
about it if I’d been there.” 

His companion was still silent, her eyes 
turned down towards the table. Harry looked 
at her with perplexity, and when he next 
spoke, there was a curious appealing note in 
his voice. 

“ Surely it doesn’t make any difference ? ” he 
asked. “ What difference can it make ? ” 

No answer came. Mrs. Cormack laid down 
the spoon and sat back in her chair. 

“You mean there’ll be no one to make a 
change for her — to distract her thoughts ? ” 

Mrs. Cormack flung her hands out with an air 
of impatience. 

“ Oh, I meant nothing,” said she petulantly. 

129 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


The clock seemed to tick very loud in the si- 
lence that followed her words. 

“ I wish I could go,” said Harry at last, in a 
low tone. 

“ Oh, I wish you could, Mr. Dennison ; ” and 
as she spoke she raised her eyes, and, for the first 
time, looked full in his face. 

Harry rose from his chair; at the same mo- 
ment his wife re-entered the room. He started 
a little at the sight of her. 

She held a letter in her hand. 

“ Mr. Ruston will be at Dieppe on the 15th 
with Walter Valentine,” she said, referring to it. 
“Give me some coffee, Harry.” 

He poured it out and gave it to her, saying, 

“ A letter from Ruston ? Lets see what he 
says.” 

“ Oh, there’s nothing else,” she answered, lay- 
ing it beside her. 

Mrs. Cormack sat looking on. 

“ May I see? ” asked Harry Dennison. 

“ If you like,” she answered, a little surprised ; 
and, turning to Mrs. Cormack, she added, “ Mr. 
Ruston ’s a man of few words on paper.” 

“ Ah, he makes every word mean something, 
I expect,” returned that lady, who was quite 
capable of the same achievement herself, and ex- 
hibited it in this very speech. 

“What does he mean by the postscript? — 
130 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


4 Have you found another kingdom yet ? ’ ” asked 
Harry, with a puzzled frown. 

“ It’s a joke, dear.” 

“ But what does it mean ? ” 

“ Oh, my dear Harry, I can’t explain jokes.” 

Harry laid the note down again. 

“It’s a joke between ourselves,” Mrs. Denni- 
son went on. “ I oughtn’t to have shown you 
the letter. Come, Berthe, we’ll go upstairs.” 

And Mrs. Cormack had no alternative but to 
obey. 

Left alone, Harry Dennison drew his chair up 
to the hearthrug. There was no fire, but he 
acted as though there were, leaning forward with 
his elbows on his knees, and gazing into the 
grate. He felt hurt and disconsolate. His old 
grievance — that people left him out — was strong 
upon him. He had delighted in the Omofaga 
scheme, because he had been in the inside ring 
there — because he was of importance to it — be- 
cause it showed him to his wife as a mover in 
great affairs. And now — somehow — he seemed 
to be being pushed outside there too. What 
was this joke between themselves ? At Dieppe 
they would have all that out ; he would not be 
in the way there. Then he did not understand 
what Berthe Cormack would be at. She had 
looked at him so curiously. He did not know 
what to make of it, and he wished that Tom 
131 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Loring were on the other side of the fireplace. 
Then he could ask him all about it. Tom ! 
Why, Tom had looked at him almost in the 
same way as Berthe Cormack had — just when he 
was wringing his hand in farewell. No, it was 
not the same way — and yet in part the same. 
Tom’s look had pity in it, and no derision. Mrs. 
Cormack’s derision was but touched with pity. 
Yet both seemed to ask, “ Don’t you see ? ” See 
what? Why had Tom gone away? He could 
rely on Tom. See what? There was nothing 
to see. 

He sat longer than he meant. It was past ten 
when he went upstairs. Mrs. Cormack had gone, 
and his wife was in an armchair by the open 
window. He came in softly and surprised her 
with her head thrown back on the cushions and 
a smile on her lips. And the letter was in her 
hands. Hearing his step when he was close by 
her, she sat up, letting the note fall to the 
ground. 

“ What a time you’ve been ! Berthe’s gone. 
W ere you asleep ? ” 

“No. I was thinking; Maggie, I wish I could 
come to Dieppe with you.” 

“ Ah, I wish you could,” said she graciously. 
“ But you’re left in charge of Omofaga.” 

She spoke as though in that charge lay conso- 
lation more than enough. 

132 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


“ I believe you care — I mean you think more 
about Omofaga than about — ” 

“ Anything in the world ? ” she asked, in play- 
ful mockery. 

“ Than about me,” he went on stubbornly. 

“ Than about your coming to Dieppe, you 
mean ? ” 

“ I mean, than about me,” he repeated. 

She looked at him wonderingly. 

“My dear man,” said she, taking his hand, 
“ what’s the matter ? ” 

“ You do wish I could come ? ” 

“ Must I say ? ” smiled Mrs. Dennison. “ For 
shame, Harry! You might be on your honey- 
moon. ” 

He moved away, and flung himself into a 
chair. 

“ I don’t think it’s fair of Ruston,” he broke 
out, “ to run away and leave it all to me. ” 

“ Why, you told him you could do it perfectly ! 
I heard you say so.” 

“How could I say anything else, when — 
when — ” 

“And originally you were both to be away! 
After all, you’re not stopping because of Omo- 
faga, but because Sir George has got the gout.” 

Harry Dennison, convicted of folly, had no 
answer, though he was hurt that he should be 
convicted out of his wife’s mouth. He shuf- 
133 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

fled his feet about and began to whistle dole- 
fully. 

Mrs. Dennison looked at him with smothered 
impatience. Their little boy behaved like that 
when he was in a naughty mood — when he 
wanted the moon, or something of that kind, 
and thought mother and nurse cruel because it 
didn’t come. Mrs. Dennison forgot that mother 
and nurse were fate to her little boy, or she 
might have sympathised with his naughty moods 
a little better. 

She rose now and walked slowly over to her 
husband. She had a hand on his chair, and was 
about to speak, when he stopped his whistling 
and jerked out abruptly, 

“ What did he mean about the kingdom ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison’s hand slid away and fell by 
her side. Harry caught her look of cold anger. 
He leapt to his feet. 

“ Maggie, I’m a fool,” he cried. “ I don’t 
know what’s wrong with me. Sit down 
here.” 

He made her sit, and half-crouched, half-knelt 
beside her. 

“Maggie,” he went on, “are you angry? 
Damn the joke ! I don’t want to know. Are 
you sorry I’m not coming ? ” 

“ What a baby you are, Harry ! Oh, yes, 
awfully sorry.” 


134 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


He knew so well what he wanted to say : he 
wanted to tell her that she was everything to 
him, that to be out of her heart was death : that 
to feel her slipping away was a torture: he 
wanted to woo and win her over again — win her 
more truly than he had even in those triumphant 
days when she gave herself to him. He wanted 
to show her that he understood her — that he was 
not a fool — that he was man enough for her! 
Yes, that she need not turn to Ruston or any- 
body else. Oh, yes, he could understand her, 
really he could. 

Not a word of it would come. He dared not 
begin : he feared that he would look — that she 
would find him — more silly still, if he began to 
say that sort of thing. She was smiling satiri- 
cally now — indulgently but satirically, and the 
emphasis of her purposely childish “ awfully ” be- 
trayed her estimation of his question. She did 
not understand the mood. She was accustomed 
to his admiration — worship would hardly be too 
strong a word. But the implied demand for a 
response to it seemed strange to her. Her air 
bore in upon him the utter difference between 
his thoughts of her and the way she thought 
about him. Always dimly felt, it had never 
pressed on him like this before. 

“Really, I’m very sorry, dear,” she said, just 
a little more seriously. “But it’s only a fort- 
135 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


night. Were not separating for ever,” and her 
smile broke out again. 

With a queer feeling of hopelessness, he rose 
to his feet. No, he couldn’t make her feel it. 
He had suffered in the same way over his 
speeches; he couldn’t make people feel them 
either. She didn't understand. It was no use. 
He began to whistle again, staring out of the 
open window. 

“I shall go to bed, Harry. I’m tired. I’ve 
been seeing that the maid’s packed what I 
wanted, and it’s harder work than packing 
oneself.” 

4 4 Give me a kiss, Meg, ” he said, turning 
round. 

She did not do that, but she accepted his kiss, 
and he, turning away abruptly, shaped his lips 
to resume his tune. But now the tune wouldn’t 
come. His wife left him alone. The tune came 
when she was there. Now it wouldn’t. Ah, 
but the words would. He muttered them in- 
audibly to himself as he stood looking out of the 
window. They sounded as though they must 
touch any woman’s heart. With an oath he 
threw himself on to the sofa, trying now to 
banish the haunting words — the words that 
would not come at his call, and came, in belated 
uselessness, to mock him now. He lay still ; 
and they ran through his head. At last they 
136 


A LADY’S BIT OF WORK 


ceased ; but, before he could thank God for that, 
a strange sense of desolation came over him. 
He looked round the empty silent room, that 
seemed larger now than in its busy daylight 
hours. The house was all still; there might 
have been one lying dead in it. It might have 
been the house of a man who had lost his wife. 


137 


CHAPTER XI 


AGAINST HIS COMING 

44 The great Napoleon once observed — ” 

44 Don’t quote from 4 Anecdotes, New and 
Old,’ ” interrupted Adela unkindly. 

44 That when his death was announced,” pur- 
sued Lord Semingham, who thought it good for 
Adela to take no notice of such interruptions, 
44 everybody would say Ouf. I say 4 Ouf ’ now,” 
and he stretched his arms luxuriously to their 
full length. 44 There’s room here,” he added, ex- 
plaining the gesture. 

44 W ell, who’s dead ? ” asked Adela, choosing 
to be exasperatingly literal. 

44 Nobody’s dead ; but a lot of people — and 
things — are a long way off.” 

“That’s not so satisfactorily final,” said 
Adela. 

44 No, but it serves for the time. Did you see 
me on my bicycle this morning ? ” 

44 What, going round here ? ” and Adela waved 
her hand circularly, as though embracing the 
broad path that runs round the grass by the sea 
at Dieppe. 

44 Yes — just behind a charming Parisienne in a 
138 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


pair of — behind a charming Parisienne in an ap- 
propriate costume.” 

“ Bessie must get one,” said Adela. 

“ Good heavens ! ” 

“ I mean a bicycle.” 

“ Oh, certainly, if she likes; but she’d as soon 
mount Salisbury Spire.” 

“ How did you learn ? ” 

“ I really beg your pardon,” said Semingham, 
“ but the fact is — Huston taught me.” 

“ Let’s change the subject,” said Adela, smil- 
ing. 

“A charming child, this Marjory Valentine, ” 
observed Semingham. “ She’s too good for 
young Evan. I’m very glad she wouldn’t have 
him.” 

“ I’m not.” 

“You’re always sorry other girls don’t marry. 
Heaven knows why.” 

“ Well, I’m sorry she didn’t take Evan.” 

“ Why?” 

“ I can’t tell you.” 

“ Not — not the forbidden topic ? ” 

“ I half believe so.” 

“ But she’s here with Maggie Dennison.” 

“ Well, everybody doesn’t chatter as you do,” 
said Adela incisively. 

“ I don’t believe it. She — Hallo ! here she 
is!” 


139 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Marjory Valentine came along, bending her 
slim figure a little, the better to resist a fresh 
breeze that blew her skirts out behind her, and 
threatened to carry off her broad-brimmed hat. 
She had been bathing ; the water was warm, and 
her cheeks glowed with a fine colour. As she 
came up, both Adela and Lord Semingham put 
on their eyeglasses. 

“An uncommon pretty girl,” observed the 
latter. 

“ Isn’t it glorious? ” cried Marjory, yet several 
yards away. “ Walter will enjoy the bathing 
tremendously.” 

“ When’s he coming? ” 

“ Saturday,” answered Marjory. “ Where’s 
Lady Semingham? ” 

“ Dressing,” said Semingham solemnly. “ Cos- 
tume number one, off at 11.30. Costume num- 
ber two, on at 12. Costume number two, off at 
3.30. Costume — ” 

“ After all, she’s your wife,” said Adela, in 
tones of grave reproach. 

“ But for that, I shouldn’t have a word to say 
against it. Women are very queer reasoners.” 

Marjory sat down next to Adela. 

“Women do waste a lot of time on dress, 
don’t they ? ” she asked, in a meditative tone ; 
“ and a lot of thought, too ! ” 

“ Hallo 1 ” exclaimed Lord Semingham. 

140 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


“ I mean, thought they might give to really 
important things. You can’t imagine George 
Eliot — ” 

“ What about Queen Elizabeth?” interrupted 
Semingham. 

“ She was a horrible woman,” said Adela. 

“ Phryne attached no importance to it,” added 
Semingham. 

“Oh, I forget! Tell me about her,” cried 
Marjory. 

“ A strong-minded woman, Miss Marjory.” 

“ He’s talking nonsense, Marjory.” 

“ I supplied a historical instance in Miss Val- 
entine’s favour.” 

“ I shall look her up,” said Marjory, at which 
Lord Semingham smiled in quiet amusement. 
He was a man who saw his joke a long way off, 
and could wait patiently for it. 

“ Yes, do,” he said, lighting a cigarette. 

Adela had grown grave, and was watching the 
girl’s face. It was a pretty face, and not a silly 
one; and Marjory’s blue eyes gazed out to sea, 
as though she were looking at something a great 
way off. Adela, with a frown of impatience, 
turned to her other neighbour. She would not 
be troubled with aspirations there. In fact, she 
was still annoyed with her young friend on Evan 
Haselden’s account. But it was no use turning 
to Lord Semingham. His eyes were more than 

10 141 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


half-closed, and he was beating time gently to 
the Casino band, audible in the distance. Adela 
sighed. At last Marjory broke the silence. 

“ When Mr. Ruston comes,” she began, “ I 
shall ask him whether — ” 

The sentence was not finished. 

“ When who comes ? ” cried Adela; and Sem- 
ingham opened his eyes and stilled his foot-pats. 

“ Mr. Ruston.” 

“ Is he coming after all ? I thought, now 
that Dennison — ” 

“ Oh, yes — he’s coming with Walter. Didn’t 
you know? ” 

“ Is he coming to-day ? ” 

“ I suppose so. Aren’t you glad? ” 

“ Of course,” from Adela, and, “ Oh, uncom- 
monly,” from Lord Semingham, seemed at first 
sight answers satisfactory enough; but Marjory’s 
inquiring gaze rested on their faces. 

“ Come for a stroll,” said Adela abruptly ; and 
passing her arm through Marjory’s, she made her 
rise. Semingham, having gasped out his con- 
ventional reply, sat like a man of stone, but 
Adela, for all that it was needless, whispered im- 
peratively, “ Stay where you are.” 

“ Well, Marjory,” she went on, as they began 
to walk, “ I don’t know that I am glad after 
all.” 

“ I believe you don’t like him.” 

142 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


“I believe I don’t,” said Adela slowly. It 
was a point she had not yet quite decided. 

44 I didn’t use to.” 

44 But you do now? ” 

44 Yes.” 

Adela hated the pregnant brevity of this af- 
firmative. 

“ Mamma doesn’t,” laughed Marjory. 44 She’s 
so angry at him carrying off Walter. As if it 
wasn’t a grand thing for Walter! So she’s 
quite turned round about him.” 

44 He’s not staying in — with you, I suppose ? ” 

44 Oh, no. Though I don’t see why he 
shouldn’t. Conventions are so stupid, aren’t 
they ? Mrs. Dennison’s there,” and Marjory 
looked up with an appeal to calm reason as per- 
sonified in Adela. 

At another time, nineteen’s view of twenty- 
nine — Marjory’s conception of Maggie Dennison 
as a sufficing chaperon — would have amused 
Adela. But she was past amusement. Her pa- 
tience snapped, as it were, in two. She turned 
almost fiercely on her companion, forgetting all 
prudence in her irritation. 

44 For heaven’s sake, child, what do you mean? 
Do you think he’s coming to see you ? ” 

Marjory drew her arm out from Adela’s, and 
retreated a step from her. 

44 Adela ! I never thought — ” She did not 
143 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


end, conscious, perhaps, that her flushed face 
gave her words the lie. Adela swept on. 

“You! He’s not coming to see you. I 
don’t believe he’s coming to see anyone — no, not 
even Maggie — I mean no one, at all.” 

The girl’s look marked the fatal slip. 

“ Oh ! ” she gasped, just audibly. 

“ I don’t believe he cares that for any of us 
— for anyone alive. Marjory, I didn’t mean 
what I said about Maggie, I didn’t indeed. 
Don’t look like that. Oh, what a stupid girl 
you are,” and she ended with a half-hysterical 
laugh. 

For some moments they stood facing one 
another, saying nothing. The meaning of 
Adela’s words was sinking into Marjory’s mind. 

“ Let’s walk on. People will wonder,” said 
she at last; and she enlaced Adela’s arm again. 
After another long pause, during which her 
face expressed the turmoil of her thoughts, she 
whispered, 

“Adela, is that why Mr. Loring went away?” 

“ I don’t know why he went away.” 

“You think me a child, so you say you don’t 
mean it now. You do mean it, you know. You 
wouldn’t say a thing like that for nothing. Tell 
me what you do mean, Adela.” It was almost 
an order. Adela suddenly realised that she had 
struck down to a force and a character. “ Tell 
144 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


me exactly what you mean,” insisted Marjory; 
“ you ought to tell me, Adela.” 

Adela found herself obeying. 

“ I don’t know about him; but I’m afraid of 
her,” she stammered, as if confessing a shameful 
deed of her own. A moment later she broke 
into entreaty. “ Go away, dear. Don’t get 
mixed up in it. Don’t have anything to do with 
him.” 

“ Do you go away when your friends are in 
trouble or in danger ? ” 

Adela felt suddenly small — then wise — then 
small, because her wisdom was of a small kind. 
Yet she gave it utterance. 

“ But, Marjory, think of— think of yourself. 
If you—” 

“ I know what you’re going to say. If I care 
for him ? I don’t. I hardly know him. But, if 
I did, I might — I might be of some use. And 
are you going to leave her all alone ? I 
thought you were her friend. Are you just 
going to look on? Though you think — what 
you think ! ” 

Adela caught hold of the girl’s hands. There 
was a choking in her throat, and she could say 
nothing. 

“ But if he sees ? ” she murmured, when she 
found speech. 

“ He won’t see. There’s nothing to see. I 
145 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


shan’t show it. Adela, I shall stay. Why do 
you think what — what you think ? ” 

People might wonder, if they would — perhaps 
they did — when Adela drew Marjory towards 
her, and kissed her lips. 

“ I couldn’t, my dear,” she said, “ but, if you 
can, for heaven’s sake do. I may be wrong, 
but — I’m uneasy.” 

Marjory’s lips quivered, but she held her head 
proudly up ; then she sobbed a short quick-stifled 
sob, and then smiled. 

“ I daresay it’s not a bit true,” she said. 

Adela pressed her hand again, saying, 

“ I’m an emotional old creature.” 

“ Why did Mr. Loring go away ? ” demanded 
Marjory. 

“ I don’t know. He thought it — ” 

“ Best ? Well, he was wrong.” 

Adela could not hear Tom attacked. 

“ Maggie turned him out,” she said — which 
account of the matter was, perhaps, just a little 
one-sided, though containing a part of the truth. 
Marjory meditated on it for a moment, Adela 
still covertly looking at her. The discovery 
was very strange. Half-an-hour ago she had 
smiled because the girl hinted a longing after 
something beyond frocks, and had laughed 
at her simple acceptance of Semingham’s joke. 
Now she found herself turning to her, looking 
146 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


to her for help in the trouble that had puzzled 
her. In her admiration of the girl’s courage, she 
forgot to wonder at her intuition, her grasp of 
evil possibilities, the knowledge of Maggie Den- 
nison that her resolve implied. Adela watched 
her, as, their farewell said, she walked, first 
quickly, then very slowly, towards the villa 
which Mrs. Dennison had hired, on the cliff-side, 
near the old castle. Then, with a last sigh, she 
put up her parasol and sauntered back to the 
Hotel de Rome. Costume number two would 
be on by now, and Bessie Semingham ready for 
luncheon. 

Marjory, finally sunk into the slow gait that 
means either idleness or deep thought, made her 
way up to the villa. With every step she drew 
nearer, the burden she had taken up seemed 
heavier. It was not sorrow for the dawning 
dream that the storm-cloud had eclipsed that 
she really thought of. But the task loomed 
large in its true difficulty, as her first enthusiasm 
spent itself. If Adela were right, what could 
she do ? If Adela were wrong, what unpardon- 
able offence she might give. Ah, was Adela 
right ? Strange and new as the idea was, there 
was an unquestioning conviction in her manner 
that Marjory could hardly resist. Save under 
the stress of a conviction, speech on such a mat- 
ter would have been an impossible crime. And 
147 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Marjory remembered, with a sinking heart, Mag- 
gie Dennison’s smile of happy triumph when she 
read out the lines in which Ruston told of his 
coming. Yes, it was, or it might be, true. But 
where lay her power to help ? 

Coming round the elbow of the rising path, 
she caught sight of Maggie Dennison sitting in 
the garden. Mrs. Dennison wore white; her 
pale clear-cut profile was towards Marjory ; she 
rested her chin on her hand, and her elbow on 
her knee, and she was looking on the ground. 
Softly Marjory drew near. An unopened letter 
from Harry lay on a little table ; the children 
had begun their mid-day meal in the room, 
whose open window was but a few feet behind ; 
Mrs. Dennison’s thoughts were far away. Mar- 
jory stopped short. A stronger buffet of fear, a 
more overwhelming sense of helplessness, smote 
her. She understood better why Adela had 
been driven to do nothing — to look on. She 
smiled for an instant ; the idea put itself so 
whimsically ; but she thought that, had Mrs. 
Dennison been walking over a precipice, it 
would need all one’s courage to interfere with 
her. She would think it such an imperti- 
nence. And Ruston ? Marjory saw, all in a 
minute, his cheerful scorn, his unshaken deter- 
mination, his rapid dismissal of one more ob- 
stacle. She drew in her breath in a long in- 
148 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


spiration, and Mrs. Dennison raised her eyes 
and smiled. 

“ I believe I felt you there,” she said smiling. 
“ At least, I began to think of you.” 

Marjory sat near her hostess. 

“Did you meet anyone? ” asked Mrs. Den- 
nison. 

“ Adela Ferrars and Lord Semingham.” 

“ W ell, had they anything to say ? ” 

“No — I don’t think so,” she answered slowly. 

“ What should they have to say in this place ? 
The children have begun. Aren’t you hungry?” 

“ Not very.” 

“Well, I am,” and Mrs. Dennison rose. “ I 
forgot it, but I am.” 

“ They didn’t know Mr. Ruston was coming.” 

“ Didn’t they? ” smiled Mrs. Dennison. “ And 
has Adela forgiven you? Oh, you know, the 
poor boy is a friend of hers, as he is of mine.” 

“We didn’t talk about it.” 

“ And you don’t want to? Very well, we 
won’t. See, here’s a long letter — it’s very 
heavy, at least — from Harry. I must read it 
afterwards.” 

“ Perhaps it’s to say he can come sooner.” 

“ I expect not,” said Mrs. Dennison, and she 
opened the letter. “No; a fortnight hence at 
the soonest,” she announced, after reading a few 
lines. 


149 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Marjory was both looking and listening close- 
ly, but she detected neither disappointment nor 
relief. 

“ He’s seen Tom Loring ! Oh, and Tom 
sends me his best remembrances. Poor Tom ! 
Marjory, does Adela talk about Mr. Loring ? ” 

“ She mentioned him once.” 

“She thinks it was all my fault,” laughed 
Mrs. Dennison. “A woman always thinks it’s 
a woman’s fault ; at least, that’s our natural ten- 
dency, though we’re being taught to overcome 
it. Marjory, you look dull ! It will be livelier 
for you when your brother and Mr. Ruston 
come.” 

The hardest thing about great resolves and 
lofty moods is their intermixture with everyday 
life. The intervals, the “waits,” the mass of 
irrelevant trivialities that life inartistically min- 
gles with its drama, flinging down pell-mell a 
heap of great and small — these cool courage and 
make discernment distrust itself. Mrs. Den- 
nison seemed so quiet, so placid, so completely 
the affectionate but not anxious wife, the kind 
hostess, and even the human gossip, that Mar- 
jory wanted to rub her eyes, wondering if all her 
heroics were nonsense — a girl’s romance gone 
wrong. There was nothing to be done but eat 
and drink, and talk and lounge in the sun — 
there was no hint of a drama, no call for a 
150 


AGAINST HIS COMING 


rescue, no place for a sacrifice. And Marjory 
had been all aglow to begin. Her face grew 
dull and her eyelids half-dropped as she leant 
her head on the back of her chair. 

“Dejeuner !” cried Mrs. Dennison merrily. 
“ And this afternoon were all going to gamble 
at petits chevaux , and if we win were going to 
buy more Omofagas. There’s a picture of a 
speculator’s family ! ” 

“Mr. Dennison’s not a speculator, is he?” 

“ Oh, it depends on what you mean. Any- 
how, I am ; ” and Mrs. Dennison, waving her 
letter in the air and singing softly, almost danced 
in her merry walk to the house. Then, crying 
her last words, “ Be quick ! ” from the door, she 
disappeared. 

A moment later she was laughing and chat- 
tering to her children. Marjory heard her bur- 
lesque complaints over the utter disappearance 
of an omelette she had set her heart upon. 

That afternoon they all played at petits 
chevaux , and the only one to win was Madge. 
But Madge utterly refused to invest her gains in 
Omofagas. She assigned no reasons, stating that 
her mother did not like her to declare the feel- 
ing which influenced her, and Mrs. Dennison 
laughed again. But Adela Ferrars would not 
look towards Marjory, but kept her eyes on an 
old gentleman who had been playing also, and 
151 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


playing with good fortune. He had looked 
round curiously when, in the course of the chaff, 
they had mentioned Omofaga, and Adela de- 
tected in him the wish to look again. She won- 
dered who he was, scrutinising his faded blue 
eyes and the wrinkles of weariness on his brow. 
Willie Ruston could have told her. It was 
Baron von Geltschmidt of Frankfort. 


152 


CHAPTER XII 


IT CAN WAIT 

In all things evil and good, to the world, and — 
a thing quite rare — to himself, Willie Ruston 
was an unaffected man. Success, the evidence 
of power and the earnest of more power, gave 
him his greatest pleasure, and he received it with 
his greatest and most open satisfaction. It did 
not surprise him, but it elated him, and his habit 
was to conceal neither the presence of elation 
nor the absence of surprise. That irony in the 
old sense, which means the well-bred though 
hardly sincere depreciation of a man’s own qual- 
ities and achievements, was not his. When he 
had done anything, he liked to dine with his 
friends and talk it over. He had been sharing 
the Carlins’ unfashionable six o’clock meal at 
Hampstead this evening, and had taken the train 
to Baker Street, and was now sauntering home 
with a cigar. He had talked the whole thing 
over with them. Carlin had said that no one 
could have managed the affair so well as he had, 
and Mrs. Carlin had not once referred to that 
lost tabula in naufragio , the coal business. Yes, 
his attack on London had been a success. He 
153 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


had known nothing of London, save that its den- 
izens were human beings, and that knowledge, 
whether in business or society, had been enough. 
His great scheme was floated; a few months 
more would see him in Omofaga; there was 
money to last for a long time to come ; and he 
had been cordially received and even made a lion 
of in the drawing-rooms. They would look for 
his name in the papers (“ and find it, by Jove/’ 
he interpolated). Men in high places would 
think of him when there was a job to be “ put 
through;” and women, famous in regions inac- 
cessible to the vulgar, would recollect their talks 
with Mr. Ruston. Decidedly they were human 
beings, and therefore, raw as he was (he just 
knew that he had come to them a little raw), he 
had succeeded. 

Yet they were, some of them, strange folk. 
There were complications in them which he 
found it necessary to reconnoitre. They said a 
great many things which they did not think, and, 
en revanche , would often only hint what they 
did. And — But here he yawned, and, finding 
his cigar out, relit it. He was not in the mood 
for analysing his acquaintance. He let his fancy 
play more lightly. It was evening, and work 
was done. He liked London evenings. He had 
liked bandying repartees with Adela Ferrars 
(though she had been too much for him if she 
154 


IT CAN WAIT 


could have kept her temper) ; he liked talking to 
Marjory Valentine and seeing her occupied with 
his ideas. Most of all, he liked trying to catch 
Maggie Dennison’s thought as it flashed out for 
a moment, and fled to shelter again. He had 
laughed again and again over the talk that Tom 
Loring had interrupted — and not less because of 
the interruption. There was little malice in him, 
and he bore no grudge against Tom. Even his 
anger at the Omofaga articles had been chiefly 
for public purposes and public consumption. It 
was always somebody’s 4 4 game” to spoil his 
game, and one must not quarrel with men for 
playing their own hands. Tom amused him, and 
had amused him especially by his behaviour over 
that talk. No doubt the position had looked a 
strange one. Tom had been so shocked. Poor 
Tom ! It must be very curious to be so easily 
shocked. Mr. Ruston was not easily shocked. 

Unaffected, free from self-consciousness, undi- 
videdly bent on his schemes, unheeding of every- 
thing but their accomplishment, he had spent 
little time in considering the considerable stir 
which he had, in fact, created in the circle of his 
more intimate associates. They had proved pli- 
able and pleasant, and these were the qualities 
he liked in his neighbours. They said agreeable 
things to him, and they did what he wanted. 
He had stayed not (save once, and half in jest, 
155 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


with Maggie Dennison) to inquire why, and the 
quasi-real, quasi-burlesque apprehension of him — 
burlesqued perhaps lest it should seem too real — 
which had grown up among such close observers 
as Adela Ferrars and Semingham, would have 
struck him as absurd, the outcome of that idle 
business of brain which weaves webs of fine 
fancies round the obvious, and loses the pow- 
er of action in the fascination of self- created 
puzzles. The nuances of a woman’s attraction 
towards a man, whether it be admiration, or in- 
terest, or pass beyond — whether it be liking and 
just not love — or interest running into love — or 
love masquerading as interest, or what-not, Willie 
Ruston recked little of. He was a man, and a 
young man. He liked women and clever women 
— yes, and handsome women. But to spend 
your time thinking of or about women, or, worse 
still, of or about what women thought of you, 
seemed poor economy of precious days — amusing 
to do, maybe, in spare hours, inevitable now and 
again — but to be driven or laughed away when 
there was work to be done. 

Such was the colour of his floating thoughts, 
and the loose-hung meditation brought him to 
his own dwelling, in a great building which over- 
looked Hyde Park. He lived high up in a small, 
irregular, many-cornered room, sparely-furnished, 
dull and pictureless. The only thing hanging on 
156 


IT CAN WAIT 


the walls was a large scale map of Omofaga and 
the neighbouring territories ; in lieu of nicknacks 
there stood on the mantelpiece lumps of ore, 
specimens from the mines of Omofaga (would 
not these convince the most obstinate unbe- 
liever ?), and, half-smothered by ill-dusted papers, 
a small photograph of Ruston and a potent 
Omofagan chief seated on the ground with a 
large piece of paper before them — a treaty no 
doubt. A well-worn sofa, second-hand and soft, 
and a deep arm-chair redeemed the place from 
utter comfortlessness, but it was plain that beau- 
ty in his daily surroundings was not essential to 
Willie Ruston. He did not notice furniture. 

He walked in briskly, but stopped short with 
his hand still on the knob of the door. Harry 
Dennison lay on the sofa, with his arm flung 
across his face. He sprang up on Ruston’s 
entrance. 

“ Hullo ! Been here long ? I’ve been dining 
with Carlin,” said Ruston, and, going to a cup- 
board, he brought out whisky and soda water. 

Harry Dennison began to explain his presence. 
In the first place he had nothing to do ; in the 
second he wanted someone to talk to; in the 
third — at last he blurted it out — the first, second, 
third and only reason for his presence. 

“ I don’t believe I can manage alone in town,” 
he said. 

11 


157 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Not manage ? There’s nothing to do. And 
Carlin’s here.” 

‘‘You see I’ve got other work besides Omo- 
faga,” pleaded Harry. 

“ Oh, I know Dennisons have lots of irons in 
the fire. But Omofaga won’t trouble you. I’ve 
told Carlin to wire me if any news comes, and I 
can be back in a few hours.” 

Harry had come to suggest that the expedi- 
tion to Dieppe should be abandoned for a week 
or two. He got no chance and sat silent. 

“ It’s all done,” continued Ruston. “The stores 
are all on their way. Jackson is waiting for them 
on the coast. Why, the train will start inland in 
a couple of months from now. They’ll go very 
slow though. I shall catch them up all right.” 

Harry brightened a little. 

“Belford said it was uncertain when you 
would start,” he said. 

“ It may be uncertain to Belford, it’s not to 
me,” observed Mr. Ruston, lighting his pipe. 

The speech sounded unkind ; but Mr. Belford’s 
mind dwelt in uncertainty contentedly. 

“ Then you think of — ? ” 

“ My dear Dennison, I don’t ‘ think * at all. 
To-day’s the 12th of August. Happen what 
may, I sail on the 10th of November. Nothing 
will keep me after that — nothing.” 

“ Belford started for the Engadine to-day.” 

158 


IT CAN WAIT 


“Well, he won’t worry you then. Let it 
alone, my dear fellow. It’s all right.” 

Clearly Mr. Ruston meant to go to Dieppe. 
That was now to Harry Dennison bad news; 
but he meant to go to Omofaga also, and to go 
soon ; that was good. Harry, however, had still 
something that he wished to convey — a bit of 
diplomacy to carry out. 

“ I hope you’ll find Maggie better,” he began. 
“ She was rather knocked up when she went.” 

“ A few days will have put her all right,” 
responded Ruston cheerfully. 

He was never ill and treated fatigue with a 
cheery incredulousness. But, at least, he spoke 
with an utter absence of undue anxiety on the 
score of another man’s wife. 

Harry Dennison, primed by Mrs. Cormack’s 
suggestions, went on, 

“ I wish you’d talk to her as little as you can 
about Omofaga. She’s very interested in it, you 
know, and — and very excitable — and all that. 
We want her mind to get a complete rest.” 

“ Hum. I expect, then, I mustn’t talk to her 
at all.” 

The manifest impossibility of making such a 
request did not prevent Harry yearning after it. 

“ I don’t ask that,” he said, smiling weakly. 

“It won’t hurt her,” said Willie Ruston. 
“And she likes it.” 


159 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


She liked it beyond question. 

“ It tires her,” Harry persisted. “ It — it gets 
on her nerves. It absorbs her too much.” 

His face was turned up to Ruston. As he 
spoke the last words, Ruston directed his eyes, 
suddenly and rapidly, upon him. Harry could 
not escape the encounter of eyes ; hastily he 
averted his head, and his face flushed. Ruston 
continued to look at him, a slight smile on his 
lips. 

“Absorbs her?” he repeated slowly, fingering 
his beard. 

“ Well, you know what I mean.” 

Another long stare showed Ruston’s medita- 
tive preoccupation. Harry sat uncomfortable 
under it, wishing he had not let fall the word. 

“Well, I’ll be careful,” said Ruston at last. 
“ Anything else? ” 

Harry rose. Ruston carried an atmosphere of 
business about with him, and the visit seemed 
naturally to end with the business of it. Taking 
his hat, Harry moved towards the door. Then, 
pausing, he smiled in an embarrassed way, and 
remarked, 

“You can talk to Marjory Valentine, you 
know.” 

“ So I can. She’s a nice girl.” 

Harry twirled his hat in his fingers. His 
brain had conceived more diplomacy. 

160 


IT CAN WAIT 


“ It’ll be fine chance for you to win her heart,” 
he suggested with a tentative laugh. 

“ I might do worse,” said Willie Huston. 

“You might — much worse,” said Harry 
eagerly. 

“Aren’t you rather giving away your friend 
young Haselden?” 

“ Who told you, Ruston ? ” 

“ Lady Yal. Who told you ? ” 

“ Semingham.” 

“Ah! Well, what would Haselden say to 
your idea ? ” 

“Well, she won’t have him — he’s got no 
chance anyhow.” 

“ All right. I’ll think about it. Good-night.” 

He watched his guest depart, but did not ac- 
company him on his way, and, left alone, sat 
down in the deep arm-chair. His smile was 
still on his lips. Poor Harry Dennison was a 
transparent schemer — one of those whose clumsy 
efforts to avert what they fear effects naught 
save to suggest the doing of it. Yet Willie 
Ruston’s smile had more pity than scorn in it. 
True, it had more of amusement than of either. 
He could have taken a slate and written down 
all Harry’s thoughts during the interview. But 
whence had come the change ? Why had Den- 
nison himself bidden him to Dieppe, to come 
now, a fortnight later, and beg him not to go? 

161 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Why did he now desire his wife to hear no more 
of Omofaga, whose chief delight in it had been 
that it caught her fancy and imparted to him 
some of the interest she found in it? Ruston 
saw in the transformation the working of an- 
other mind. 

“ Somebody’s been putting it into his head,” 
he muttered, still half-amused, but now half- 
angry also. 

And, with his usual rapidity of judgment, he 
darted unhesitatingly to a conclusion. He iden- 
tified the hand in the business ; he recognised 
whose more subtle thoughts Harry Dennison 
had stumbled over and mauled in his painful 
devices. But to none is it given to be infallible, 
and want of doubt does not always mean ab- 
sence of error. Forgetting this common-place 
truth, Willie Ruston slapped his thigh, leapt up 
from his chair and, standing on the rug, ex- 
claimed, 

“ Loring — by Jove ! ” 

It was clear to him. Loring was his enemy ; 
he had displaced Loring. Loring hated him 
and Omofaga. Loring had stirred a husband’s 
jealousy to further his own grudge. The same 
temper of mind that made his anger fade away 
when he had arrived at this certainty, prevented 
any surprise at the discovery. It was natural 
in man to seek revenge, to use the nearest weap- 
162 


IT CAN WAIT 

on, to counter stroke with stroke, not to throw 
away any advantages for the sake of foibles of 
generosity. So, then, it was Loring who bade 
him not go to Dieppe, who prayed him not to 
“ absorb ” Mrs. Dennison in Omofaga, who was 
ready, notwithstanding his hatred and distrust, 
to see him the lover of Marjory Valentine soon- 
er than the too engrossing friend of Mrs. Den- 
nison ! What a fool they must think him ! — 
and, with this reflection, he put the whole 
matter out of his head. It could wait till he 
was at Dieppe, and, taking hold of the great 
map by the roller at the bottom, he drew it to 
him. Then he reached and lifted the lamp 
from the table, and set it high on the mantel- 
piece. Its light shone now on his path, and 
with his finger he traced the red line that ran, 
curving and winding, inwards from the coast, 
till it touched the blue letters of the 4 4 Omofaga,” 
that sprawled across the map. The line ended 
in a cross of red paint. The cross was Fort Im- 
perial — was to be Fort Imperial, at least; but 
Willie Ruston’s mind overleapt all difference of 
tenses. He stood and looked, pulling hard and 
fast at his pipe. He was there — there in Fort Im- 
perial already — far away from London and Lon- 
don folk — from weak husbands and their causes 
of anxiety — from the pleasing recreations of fas- 
cinating society, from the covert attacks of men 
163 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


whose noses he had put out of joint. He forgot 
them all ; their feelings became naught to him. 
What mattered their graces, their assaults, their 
weal or woe ? He was in Omofaga, carving out 
of its rock a stable seat, carving on the rock face, 
above the seat, a name that should live. 

At last he turned away, flinging his empty 
pipe on the table and dropping the map from 
his hand. 

“ I shall go to bed,” he said. “ Three months 
more of it ! ” 

And to bed he went, never having thought 
once during the whole evening of a French lady, 
who liked to get amusement out of her neigh- 
bours, and had stayed in town on purpose to 
have some more talks with Harry Dennison. 
Had Willie Ruston not been quite so sure that 
he read Tom Loring’s character aright, he might 
have spared a thought for Mrs. Cormack. 


164 


CHAPTER XIII 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 

Tom Lohing had arranged to spend the whole 
of the autumn in London. His Omofaga ar- 
ticles had gained such favourable notice that his 
editor had engaged him to contribute a series 
dealing with African questions and African 
companies (and the latter are in the habit of 
producing the former), while he was occupied, 
on his own account, at the British Museum, in 
making way with a treatise of a politico-philo- 
sophical description, which had been in his head 
for several years, tie hailed with pleasure the 
prospect of getting on with it; the leisure af- 
forded him by his departure from the Dennisons 
was, in its way, a consolation for the wrench 
involved in the parting. Could he have felt 
more at ease about the course of events in his 
absence, he would have endured his sojourn in 
town with equanimity. 

Of course, the place was fast becoming a des- 
ert, but, at this moment, chance, which always 
objects to our taking things for granted, brought 
a carriage exactly opposite the bench on which 
Tom was seated, and he heard his name called in 
165 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


a high-pitched voice that he recognised. Look- 
ing up, he saw Mrs. Cormack leaning over the 
side of her victoria, smiling effusively and beck- 
oning to him. That everyone should go save 
Mrs. Cormack seemed to Tom the irony of cir- 
cumstance. With a mutter to himself, he rose 
and walked up to the carriage. He then per- 
ceived, to his surprise, that it contained, hidden 
behind Mrs. Cormack’s sleeves — sleeves were 
large that year — another inmate. It was Evan 
Haselden, and he greeted Tom with an off-hand 
nod. 

“The good God,” cried Mrs. Cormack, ‘ 4 evi- 
dently kept me here to console young men ! 
Are you left desolate like Mr. Haselden here ? ” 

“Well, it’s not very lively,” responded Tom, 
as amiably as he could. 

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, with the slightest, 
quickest glance at Evan, who was staring moodily 
at the tops of the the trees. 

Tom laughed. The woman amused him in 
spite of himself. And her failures to extract 
entertainment from poor heart-broken Evan 
struck him as humorous. 

“ But I’m at work,” he went on, “ so I don’t 
mind.” 

“ Ah ! Are you still crushing — ? ” 

“No,” interrupted Tom quickly. “That’s 
done.” 


166 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 


“I should not have guessed it,” said Mrs. 
Cormack, opening her eyes. 

“I mean, I’ve finished the articles on that 
point.” 

“That is rather a different thing,” laughed 
she. 

“ I’m afraid so,” said Tom. 

“ I wish to heaven it wasn’t ! ” ejaculated Evan 
suddenly, without shifting his gaze from the 
tree-tops. 

“ Oh, he is very very bad,” whispered Mrs. 
Cormack. “Poor young man! Are you bad 
too ? ” 

44 Eh?” 

44 Oh, but I know.” 

44 Oh, no, you don’t,” said Tom. 

Suddenly Evan rose, opened the carriage door, 
got out, shut it, and lifted his hat. 

44 Good-bye,” said Mrs. Cormack, smiling 
merrily. 

“Good-bye. Thanks,” said Evan, with un- 
changed melancholy, and, with another nod to 
Tom, he walked round to the path and strode 
quickly away. 

44 How absurd ! ” said she. 

44 Not at all. I like to see him honest about 
it. He’s hard hit — and he’s not ashamed of it.” 

44 Oh, well,” said Mrs. Cormack, shrugging 
the subject away in weariness of it. 44 And 
167 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

how do you stand banishment ? Will you get 
in?” 

“Yes, if you won’t assume — ” 

“ Too great familiarity, Mr. Loring ? ” 

“ Oh, I was only going to say — with my affairs. 
With me — I should be charmed,” and Tom set- 
tled himself in the victoria. 

He had, now he came to think of it, been 
really very much bored ; and the little woman 
was quite a resource. 

She rewarded his ironical gallantry with a look 
that told him she took it for what it was worth, 
but liked it all the same; and, after a pause, 
asked, 

“ And you see Mr. Dennison often ? ” 

“ Very seldom, on the contrary. I don’t know 
what he does with himself.” 

“ The poor man ! He walks up and down. 
I hear him walking up and down.” 

“ What does he do that for ? ” 

“ Ah! what? Well, he cannot be happy, can 
he?” 

“ Can’t he ? ” said Tom, determined to under- 
stand nothing. 

“You are very discreet,” she said, with a ma- 
licious smile. 

“ I’m obliged to be. Somebody must be.” 

“ Mr. Loring,” she said abruptly, “ you don’t 
like me, neither you nor Miss Ferrars.” 

168 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 


“ I never answer for others. For myself — ” 

“ Oh, I know. What does it matter ? Well, 
anyhow, I’m sorry for that poor man.” 

“ Your sympathy is very ready, Mrs. Cormack.” 

“ You mean it is too soon — premature ? ” 

“ I mean it’s altogether unnecessary, to my 
humble thinking.” 

“ But I’m not a fool,” she protested. 

Tom could not help laughing. The laugh, 
however, rather spoilt his argument. 

“ Have it your own way,” he conceded, con- 
scious of his error, and trying to cover it by 
a burlesque surrender. “ He’s miserable.” 

“ Well, he is.” 

There was a placid certainty about her that 
disturbed Tom’s attitude of incredulity. 

“ Why is he ? ” he asked curiously. 

“I have talked to him. I know,” she an- 
swered, with a nod full of meaning. 

66 Oh, have you ? ” 

“ Yes, and he — well, do you want to hear, or 
will you be angry and despise me as you used ? ” 

“ I want to hear.” 

“ What did I use to say ? That the man 
would come? Well, he has come. Voila tout!” 

“ Oh, so you say. But Harry doesn’t think 
such — I beg pardon, I was about to say, non- 
sense.” 

“Yes, he does. At least, he is afraid of it.” 

169 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 How do you know ? ” 

44 1 tell you we have talked. And I saw. He 
almost cried that he couldn’t go to Dieppe, and 
that somebody else — ” 

Tom suddenly turned upon her. 

44 Who began the talk ? ” he demanded. 

44 What do you say ? ” 

44 Who began ? ” 

44 Oh, what nonsense ! Who does begin to 
talk? How do I know? It came, Mr. Loring.” 

Tom said nothing. 

44 You look as if you didn’t believe me,” she 
remarked, pouting. 

44 1 don’t. He’s the most unsuspicious fellow 
alive.” 

44 Well, if you like, I began. I’m not ashamed. 
But I said very little. When he asked me if I 
thought it good that she and — the other — should 
be together out there and he here — well, was I 
to say yes ? ” 

44 1 think, ” observed Tom, in quiet and deliber- 
ate tones, 44 that it’s a great pity that some 
women can’t be gagged.” 

44 They can, but only with kisses,” said Mrs. 
Cormack, not at all offended. 44 Oh, don’t be 
frightened. I do not wish to be gagged at all. 
If I did — there is more than one man in the 
world.” 

Tom despised and half-hated her; but he liked 
170 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 


her good-nature, and, in his heart, admired her 
for not flinching. Her shamelessness was crossed 
with courage. 

“So you’ve made him miserable ? ” 

“Well, I might say, I, a wicked French- 
woman, that it is better to be deceived than to 
be wretched. But you, an Englishman ! Oh, 
never, Mr. Loring ! ” 

Tom sat silent a little while. 

“ I don’t know what to do,” he said, half in 
reverie. 

“ Who thought you would ? ” asked Mrs. Cor- 
mack, unkindly. 

“ I believe it’s all a mare’s nest.” 

“ That means a mistake, a delusion ? ” 

“ It does.” 

“ Then I don’t think you do believe it. And, 
if you do, you are wrong. It is not all a — a 
mare’s nest.” 

She pronounced the word with unfamiliar del- 
icateness. 

Tom knew that he did not believe that it was 
all a mare’s nest. He would have given every- 
thing in the world — save one thing — and that, he 
thought, he had not got — to believe it. 

“ Then, if you believed it, why didn’t you do 
something ? ” he asked rather fiercely. 

“What have you ah done? I, at least, 
warned him. Yes, since you insist, I hinted it. 

171 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


But you — you ran away; and your Adela Fer- 
rars, she looks prim and pained, oh ! and shocked, 
and doesn’t come so much.” 

It was a queer source to learn lessons from, 
and Tom was no less surprised than Adela had 
been a day or two before at Dieppe. 

“ What should you do ? ” he asked, in new- 
born humility. 

44 1 ? Nothing. What is it to me ? ” 

44 What should you do, if you were me ? ” 

44 Make love to her myself,” smiled Mrs. Cor- 
mack. She was having her revenge on Tom for 
many a scornful speech. 

44 If you’d held your tongue, it would all have 
blown over ! ” he exclaimed in exasperation. 

44 It will blow over still ; but it will blow 
first,” she said. 44 If that contents you, hold 
your tongue.” 

Then she turned to Tom, and laid a small 
forefinger on his arm. 

44 Mark this,” said she, 44 he does not care for 
her. He cares for himself ; she is — what would 
you say? an incident — an accident — I do not 
know how to say it — to him.” 

44 W ell, if you’re right there — ” began Tom in 
some relief. 

44 If I’m right there, it will make no difference 
— at first. But, as you say, it will blow over — 
and sooner.” 


172 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 

Tom looked at her, and thought and looked 
again. 

“By Jove, you’re not a fool, Mrs. Cormack,” 
said he, almost under his breath. 

Then he added, louder, 

“ It’s the wisdom of the devil.” 

“ Oh, you surpass yourself,” she smiled. 
“ Your compliments are magnificent.” 

“ You must have learnt it from him.” 

“Oh, no. From my husband,” said Mrs. 
Cormack. 

The carriage, which during their talk had 
moved slowly round the circle, stopped again. 

Mrs. Cormack turned to Tom. He was al- 
ready looking at her. 

“ I don’t understand you,” said he. 

“ No ? Well, you’ll hardly believe it, but that 
does not surprise me.” 

“ I’m not sure you don’t mean well, if you 
weren’t ashamed to confess it,” said Tom. 

For the first time since he had known her, 
she blushed and looked embarrassed. Then she 
began, in a quick tone, 

“Well, I talked. I wanted to see how he 
took it; and it amused me. And — well, our 
dear Maggie — she is so very magnificent at 
times. She looks down so calmly — oh, from 
such a height — on one. She had told me that 
day — well, never mind that ; it was true, I dare- 
12 173 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


say. I don’t love truth. I don’t see what right 
people have to say things to me, just because 
one may know they are true.” 

“ So you made a little mischief ? ” 

“ Well, I hear that poor man walking up and 
down. I want to comfort him. I asked him 
to come in, and he refused. Then I offered to 
go in — he was very frightened. Oh, mon Dieu ! ” 
and she laughed almost hysterically. 

This very indirect confession proved in the 
end to be all that Mrs. Cormack’s penitence 
could drive her to, and Tom left her, feeling a 
little softened towards her, but hardly better 
equipped for action. What, indeed, could be 
done? Tom’s sense of futility expressed itself 
in a long letter to Adela Ferrars. As he had no 
suggestions for present action, he took refuge in 
future promises. 

“It will be very awkward for me to come, 
but if, as time goes on, you think I should be 
any good, I will come.” 

And Adela, when she read it, was tempted to 
send for him on the spot ; he would have been 
of no use, but he would have comforted her. 
But then his presence would unquestionably 
exasperate Maggie Dennison. Adela decided to 
wait. 

Now, by the time Tom Loring’s letter reached 
Dieppe, young Sir Walter and Willie Ruston 
174 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 


were on the boat, and they arrived hard on its 
heels. They took up their abode at a hotel a 
few doors from where the Seminghams were 
staying, and Walter at once went round to pay 
his respects. 

Ruston stayed in to write letters. So he said ; 
but when he was alone he stood smoking at the 
window and looking at the people down below. 
Presently, to his surprise, he saw the same old 
gentleman whom Adela had noticed in the 
Casino. 

“ The Baron, by Jove ! ” he exclaimed. “Now, 
what brings him here ? ” 

The Baron was sauntering slowly by, wrapped 
in a cloak, and leaning heavily on a malacca 
cane. In a moment Willie Ruston was down 
the stairs and after him. 

Hearing his name cried, the Baron stopped 
and turned round. 

“ What chance brings you here? ” asked Wil- 
lie, holding out his hand. 

“ Oh, hardly chance,” said the Baron. “ I 
always go to some seaside place, and I thought 
I might meet friends here,” and he smiled sig- 
nificantly. 

“Yes,” said Ruston, after a pause; “I believe 
I did mention it in Threadneedle Street. I was 
in there the other day.” 

By the general term Threadneedle Street he 
175 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


meant to indicate the offices of the Baron’s Lon- 
don correspondents, which were situate there. 

“ They keep you informed, it seems ? ” 

“ I live by being kept informed,” said the 
Baron. 

Ruston was walking by him, accommodating 
his pace to the old man’s feeble walk. 

“ You mean you came to see me ? ” he asked. 

“ Well, if you’ll forgive the liberty — in part.” 

“ And why did you want me ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ve not lost all interest in Omofaga.” 

“No, you haven’t,” said Ruston. “On the 
contrary, you’ve been increasing your interest.” 

The Baron stopped and looked at him. 

“ Oh, you know that ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

The Baron laughed. 

“ Then you can tell me whether I shall lose 
my money,” he said. 

“ Do you ever lose your money, Baron ? ” 

“ But am I to hear about Omofaga ? ” asked 
the Baron, countering question by question. 

“ As much as you like,” answered Ruston, 
with the indifference of perfect candour. 

“Ah, by the way, I have heard about it al- 
ready. Who are the ladies here who talk about 
it?” 

Willie Ruston gave a careful catalogue of all 
the persons in Dieppe who were interested in the 
17a 


A SPASM OF PENITENCE 


Omofaga Company. The Baron identified the 
Seminghams and Adela. Then he observed, 

“ And the other lady is Mrs. Dennison, is 

she ? ” 

“ She is. I’m going to her house to-morrow. 
Shall I take you? ” 

“ I should be charmed.” 

“ Very well. To-morrow afternoon.” 

“ And you’ll dine with me to-night ? ” 

Ruston was about to refuse; but the Baron 
added, half seriously, 

“ I’ve come a long way to see you.” 

“All right, I’ll come,” he said. Then he 
paused a moment, and looked at the Baron curi- 
ously. “And perhaps you’ll tell me then,” he 
added. 

“ Why I’ve come ? ” 

“Yes; and why you’ve been buying. You 
were bought out. What do you want to come 
in again for ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you all that now,” said the Baron. 
“ I’ve come because I thought I should like to 
see some more of you; and I’ve been buying 
because I fancy you’ll make a success of it.” 

Willie Ruston pulled his beard thoughtfully. 

“ Don’t you believe me ? ” asked the Baron. 

“ Let’s wait a bit,” suggested Ruston. Then, 
with a sudden twinkle of his eye, his holiday 
mood seemed to come back again. Seizing the 
177 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Baron’s arm, he pressed it, and said with a laugh, 
“ I say, Baron, if you want to get control over 
Omofaga — ” 

“ But, my dear friend — ” protested the Baron. 

“ If you do — I only say 4 if’ — I’m not the only 
man you’ve got to fight. Well, yes, I am the 
only many 

“ My dear young friend, I don’t understand 
you,” pleaded the Baron. 

44 We’ll go and see Mrs. Dennison to-morrow,” 
said Willie Ruston. 


178 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


“ Well?” 

It was the morning of the next day. Mrs. 
Dennison sat in her place in the little garden on 
the cliff, and Willie Ruston stood just at the 
turn of the mounting path, where Marjory had 
paused to look at her friend. 

“ Well, here I am,” said he. 

She did not move, but held out her hand. 
He advanced and took it. 

“1 met your children down below,” he went 
on, “ but they would hardly speak to me. Why 
don’t they like me ? ” 

“ Never mind the children.” 

“ But I do mind. Most children like me.” 

“ How is everything ? ” 

“ In London ? Oh, first-rate. I saw your 
husband the — ” 

“ I mean, how is Omofaga ? ” 

“ Capital ; and here ? ” 

“It has been atrociously dull. What could 
you expect ? ’ ’ 

“Well, I didn’t expect that, or I shouldn’t 
have come.” 


179 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 Are the stores started ?” 

44 I thought it was holiday time? Well, yes, 
they are.” 

She had been looking at him ever since he 
came, and at last he noticed it. 

44 Do I look well ? ” he asked in joke. 

“You know, it’s rather a pleasure to look at 
you,” she replied. 44 I’ve been feeling so shut 
in,” and she pushed her hair back from her fore- 
head, and glanced at him with a bright smile. 
46 And it’s really going well ? ” 

“So well,” he nodded, “that everything’s 
quiet, and the preparations well ahead. In 
three months” (and his enthusiasm began to get 
hold of him) “ I shall be off; in two more I 
hope to be actually there, and then — why, for- 
ward ! ” 

She had listened at first with sparkling eyes ; 
as he finished, her lids drooped, and she leant 
back in her chair. There was a moment’s 
silence ; then she said in a low voice, 

44 Three months ! ” 

44 It oughtn’t to take more than two, if Jack- 
son has arranged things properly for me.” 

Evidently he was thinking of his march up 
country ; but it was the first three months that 
were in her mind. She had longed to see the 
thing really started, hastened by all her efforts 
the hour that was to set him at work, and 
180 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


dreamt of the day when he should set foot in 
Omofaga. Now all this seemed assured, im- 
minent, almost present ; yet there was no exul- 
tation in her tone. 

44 1 meant, before you started,” she said slowly. 

He looked up in surprise. 

44 1 can’t manage sooner,” he said, defending 
himself. 44 You know I don’t waste time.” 

He was still off the scent; and even she her- 
self was only now, for the first time and as yet 
dimly, realising her own mind. 

44 1 have to do everything myself,” he said. 
44 Dear old Carlin can’t walk a step alone, and 
the Board — ” he paused, remembering that 
Harry Dennison was on the Board — 44 well, I 
find it hard to make them move as quick as 
I want. I had to fix a date, and I fixed the 
earliest I could be absolutely sure of.” 

44 Why don’t they help you more ? ” she burst 
out indignantly. 

44 Oh, I don’t want help.” 

44 Yes, but I helped you ! ” she exclaimed, lean- 
ing forward, full again of animation. 

44 1 can’t deny it,” he laughed. 44 You did 
indeed.” 

44 Yes,” she said, and became again silent. 

44 Apropos ,” said he. 44 1 want to bring some- 
one to see you this afternoon — Baron von 
Geltschmidt.” 


181 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Who?” 

44 He was the German capitalist, you know.” 

44 What ! Why, what’s he doing here ? ” 

44 He came to see me — so he says. May I 
bring him ? ” 

“Why, yes. He’s a great — a great man, 
isn’t he? ” 

44 Well, he’s a great financier.” 

44 And he came to see you ? ” 

44 So he says.” 

44 And don’t you believe him ? ” 

44 1 don’t know. I want your opinion,” answered 
Ruston, with a smile. 

44 Are you serious ? ” she asked quickly. 44 1 
mean, do you really want my opinion, or are you 
being polite ? ” 

44 1 don’t think you a fool, you know,” said 
Willie Ruston. 

She flashed a glance of understanding, mingled 
with reproach, at him, and, leaning forward 
again, said, 

44 Has he come about Omofaga ? ” 

44 That you might tell me too — or will you 
want all Omofaga if you do so much ? ” 

For a moment she smiled in recollection. 
Then her face grew sad. 

44 Much of Omofaga I shall have ! ” she said. 

44 Oh, I’ll write,” he promised carelessly. 

44 Write ! ” she repeated in low, scornful tones. 

182 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


“Would you like to be written to about it? 
It’ll happen to you, and I’m to be written to ? ” 

44 Well, then, I won’t write.” 

44 Yes, do write.” 

Willie Ruston smiled tolerantly, but his smile 
was suddenly cut short, for Mrs. Dennison, not 
looking at him but out to sea, asked herself in a 
whisper, which was plainly not meant for him 
though he heard it, 

“ How shall I bear it ? ” 

He had been tilting his chair back ; he brought 
the front legs suddenly on to the ground again 
and asked, 

44 Bear what ? ” 

She started to find he had heard, but at- 
tempted evasion. 

44 When you’ve gone,” she answered in simple 
directness. 

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. 
There was no embarrassment in her face and no 
tremble in her voice; and no passion could he 
detect in either. 

4 4 How flat it will all be,” she added in a tone 
of utter weariness. 

He was half-pleased, half-piqued, at the way 
she seemed to look at him. It not only failed 
to satisfy him, but stirred a new dissatisfaction. 
It hinted much, but only, it seemed to him, 
to negative it. It left Omofaga still all in all, 
183 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


and him of interest only because he would talk 
of and work for Omofaga, and keep the Omofaga 
atmosphere about her. Now this was wrong, 
for Omofaga existed for him, not he for Omo- 
faga; that was the faith of true disciples. 

“ You don’t care about me,” he said. “ It’s all 
the Company — and only the Company, because 
it gives you something to do. Well, the Com- 
pany ’ll go on (I hope), and you’ll hear about 
our doings.” 

She turned to him with a puzzled look. 

“I don’t know what it is,” she said with a 
shake of her head. Then, with a sudden air of 
understanding, as though she had caught the 
meaning that before eluded her, she cried, “ I’m 
just like you, I believe. If I went to Omofaga, 
and you had to stay — ” 

“ Oh, it would be the deuce,” he laughed. 

“ Yes, yes. Well, it is — the deuce,” she an- 
swered, laughing in return. But in a moment 
she was grave again. 

Her attraction for him — the old special attrac- 
tion of the unknown and unconquered — came 
strongly upon him, and mingled more now with 
pleasure in her. Her silence let him think ; and 
he began to think how wasted she was on Harry 
Dennison. Another thought followed, and to 
that he gave utterance. 

But you’ve lots of things you could do at 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


home ; you could have plenty to work at, and 
plenty of — of influence, and so on.” 

“ Yes, but — oh, it would come to Mr. Belford ! 
Who wants to influence Mr. Belford ? Besides, 
I’ve grown to love it now. Haven’t you ? ” 

44 Omofaga ? ” 

“ Yes ! It’s so far off — and most people don’t 
believe in it.” 

“ No, confound them ! I wish they did! ” 

“ Do you ? I’m not sure I do.” 

She was so absorbed that she had not heard 
an approaching step, and was surprised to see 
Huston jump up while her last sentence was 
but half said. 

46 My dear Miss Valentine,” he cried, his face 
lighting up with a smile of pleasure, 44 how 
pleasant to meet you again ! ” 

There was no mistaking the sincerity of his 
greeting. Marjory blushed as she gave him her 
hand, and he fixed his eyes on her in undisguised 
approval. 

44 You’re looking splendid,” he said. 44 Is it 
the air, or the bathing, or what ? ” 

Perhaps it was both in part, but, more than 
either, it was a change that worked outwards 
from within, and was giving to her face the ex- 
pression without which mere beauty of form or 
colour is poor in allurement. The last traces of 
what Lord Semingham meant by 44 insipidity ” 
185 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


had been chased away. Ruston felt the change 
though he could not track it. 

Marjory, a bad dissembler, greeted him nerv- 
ously, almost coldly; she was afraid to let her 
gaze rest on him or on Mrs. Dennison for long, 
lest it should hint her secret. Her manner be- 
trayed such uneasiness that Ruston noticed it. 
Mrs. Dennison did not, for something in Rus- 
ton’s face had caught her attention. She had 
seen many expressions in his eyes as he looked 
at her — of sympathy, amusement, pleasure, even 
(what had pleased her most) puzzle, but never 
what she saw now. The look now was a man’s 
homage to beauty — it differs from every other — 
a lover hardly seems to have it unless his love be 
beautiful — and she had never yet seen it when 
he looked at her. She turned away towards the 
sea, grasping the arm of her chair with a sudden 
grip that streaked her fingers red and white. 
Marjory also saw, and a wild hope leapt up in 
her that her task needed not the doing. But a 
moment later Ruston was back in Omofaga — 
young Sir Walter being his bridge for yet another 
transit. 

“ How’s Mr. Dennison?” asked Marjory, when 
he gave her an opportunity. 

“ Oh, he’s all right. You’d have heard, I sup- 
pose, if he hadn’t been ? ” 

It was true. Marjory recognised the inap- 
186 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


propriateness of her question, but Mrs. Dennison 
came to the rescue. 

“ Marjory wants a personal impression,” she 
said. 44 You know she and my husband are great 
allies ! ” 

“ W ell,” laughed Ruston, 44 he was a little cross 
with me because I would come to Dieppe. I 
should have felt the same in his place; but he’s 
well enough, I think.” 

“ I was going down to find Lady Seming- 
ham,” said Marjory. “Are you coming down 
this morning, Maggie ? ” 

“ Maggie ” was something new — adopted at 
Mrs. Dennison’s request. 

44 1 think not, dear.” 

44 1 am,” said Ruston, taking up his walking 
stick. 44 1 shall be up with the Baron this after- 
noon, Mrs. Dennison. Come along, Miss Val- 
entine. We’ve been having no end of a palaver 
about Omofaga,” and as they disappeared down 
the cliff Mrs. Dennison heard his voice talking 
eagerly to Marjory. 

She felt her heart beating quickly. She had 
to conquer a strange impulse to rise and hurry 
after them. She knew that she must be jealous 
— jealous, she said to herself, trying to laugh, 
that he should talk about Omofaga to other peo- 
ple. Nonsense ! Why, he was always talking 
of it ! There was a stronger feeling in her, less 
187 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


vague, of fuller force. It had come on her when 
he spoke of his going to Africa, but then it was 
hard to understand, for with all her heart she 
thought she was still bent on his going. It 
spoke more clearly now, stirred by the threat of 
opposition. At first it had been the thing — the 
scheme — the idea — that had caught her ; she 
had taken the man for the things sake, because 
to do such a thing proved him a man after her 
pattern. But now, as she sat in the little gar- 
den, she dimly traced her change — she loved the 
scheme because it was his. She did not shrink 
from testing it. “Yes,” she murmured, “if he 
gave it up now, I should go on with him to 
something else.” Then came another step — 
why should he not give it up ? Why should he 
go into banishment — he who might go near to 
rule England ? Why should he empty her life 
by going ? But if he went — and she could not 
persuade herself that she had power to stop his 
going — he must go from her side, it must be she 
who gave him the stirrup-cup, she towards whom 
he would look across the sea, she for whom he 
would store up his brief grim tales of victory, in 
whose eyes he would see the reflection of his tri- 
umphs. Could she fill such a place in his life ? 
She knew that she did not yet, but she believed 
in herself. “ I feel large enough,” she said with 
a smile. 


188 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


Yet there was something that she had not yet 
touched in him — the thing which had put that 
look in his eyes, a thing that for the moment at 
least Marjory Valentine had touched. Why 
had she not? She answered, with a strong 
clinging to self- approbation, that it was because 
she would not. She told herself that she had 
asked nothing from her intercourse with him 
save the play of mind on mind — it was her mind 
and nothing else that her own home failed to 
satisfy. She recalled the scornful disgust with 
which she had listened to Semingham when he 
hinted to her that there was only one way to 
rule a man. It seemed less disgusting to her 
now than when he spoke. For, in the light of 
that look in his eyes, there stood revealed a 
new possibility — always obvious, never hitherto 
thought of — that another would take and wield 
the lower mighty power that she had disdained 
to grasp, and by the might of the lower wrest 
from her the higher. Was not the lower solidly 
based in nature, the higher a fanciful structure 
resting on no sound foundation? The moment 
this spectre took form before her — the moment 
she grasped that the question might lie between 
her and another — that it might be not what she 
would take but what she could keep — her heart 
cried out, to ears that shrank from the tumultu- 
ous, reckless cry, that less than all was nothing, 
13 189 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


that, if need be, all must be paid for all. And, 
swift on the horror of her discovery, came the 
inevitable joy in it — joy that will be silenced by 
no reproofs, not altogether abashed by any 
shame, that no pangs can rob utterly of its 
sweetness — a thing to smother, to hide, to re- 
joice in. 

Yet she would not face unflinchingly what her 
changing mind must mean. She tried to put it 
aside — to think of something, ah! of anything 
else, of anything that would give her foothold. 

“ I love my husband,” she found herself say- 
ing. “ I love poor old Harry and the children.” 
She repeated it again and again, praying the 
shibboleth to show its saving virtue. It was 
part of her creed, part of her life, to be a good 
wife and mother — part of her traditions that 
women who were not that were nothing at all, 
and that there was nothing a woman might take 
in exchange for this one splendid all- comprehend- 
ing virtue. To that she must stand — it was 
strange to be driven to argue with herself on 
such a point. She mused restlessly as she sat ; 
she listened eagerly for her children’s footsteps 
mounting the hill ; she prayed for an interrup- 
tion to rescue her from her thoughts. Just now 
she would think no more about it ; it was think- 
ing about it that did all the harm. Yet while 
she was alone she could not choose but surren- 
190 


THE THING OR THE MAN 


der to the thought of it — to the thought of what 
a price she must pay for her traditions and her 
creed. The payment, she cried, would leave life 
an empty thing. Yet it must be paid — if it 
must. Was it now come to that? Was this 
the parting of the roads ? 

“ I must, yet I cannot ! I must not, yet I 
must.” It was the old clash of powers, the old 
conflict of commands, the old ruthless will of 
nature that makes right too hard and yet fastens 
anguish upon sin — that makes us yearn for and 
hate the higher while we love and loathe the 
lower. 


191 


CHAPTER XV 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 

Much went to spoil the stay at Dieppe, but the 
only overt trouble was the feeble health of the 
Baron von Geltschmidt. The old man had 
rapidly made his way into the liking of his 
new acquaintances. Semingham found his dry, 
worldly-wise, perhaps world-weary, humour an 
admirable sauce to conversation; Adela Ferrars 
detected kindness in him ; his gallant deference 
pleased Lady Semingham. They were all grieved 
when the cold winds laid hold of him, forced him 
to keep house often, and drove him to furs and 
a bath- chair, even when the sun shone most 
brightly. Although they liked him, they im- 
plored him to fly south. He would not move, 
finding pleasure in them, and held fast by an 
ever-increasing uneasy interest in Willie Ruston. 
Adela quarrelled with him heartily and ener- 
getically on this score. To risk health because 
anyone was interesting was absurd ; to risk it 
on Ruston’s account, most preposterous. 44 I’d 
be ill to get away from him,” she declared. The 
Baron was obstinate, fatalistic as to his health, 
infatuated in his folly ; stay he would, while 
192 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


Ruston stayed. Yet what Ruston did, pleased 
him not; for the better part of the man — 
what led him to respond to kindness or affection, 
and abate something of his hardness where he 
met no resistance — seemed to be conspiring w T ith 
his old domineering mood to lead him beyond 
all power of warning or recall. 

A week had passed since Ruston paid his first 
visit to Mrs. Dennison in the cottage on the 
cliff. It was a bright morning. The Baron 
was feeling stronger; he had left his chair and 
walked with Adela to a seat. There they sat 
side by side, in the occasional talk and easy 
silences of established friendship. The Baron 
smoked his cigar ; Adela looked idly at the sea ; 
but suddenly the Baron began to speak. 

“ I had a talk with our friend, Lord Seming- 
ham, this morning,” said he. 

“ About anything in particular ? ” 

“ I meant it to be, but he doesn’t like talk 
that leads anywhere in particular.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” said Adela, with a slight 
smile. 

The Baron sat silent for a moment, then he 
said, 

“May I talk to you, Miss Ferrars?” and he 
looked at her inquiringly. 

“Why, of course,” she answered. “ Is it about 
yourself, Baron ? You’re not worse, are you ? ” 
193 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


He took no notice of her question, but pointed 
towards the cliff. 

“ What is happening up there ? ” he asked. 

Adela started. She had not realised that he 
meant to talk on that subject. 

He detected her shrinking and hastened to 
defend himself. 

“ Or are we to say nothing ? ” he asked. 
“ Nothing ? When we all see ! Don’t you see ? 
Doesn’t Miss Valentine see? Is she so sad for 
nothing ? Oh, don’t shake your head. And the 
other — this Mrs. Dennison ? Am I to go on ? ” 

“ No,” said Adela sharply ; and added, a mo- 
ment later, “ I know.” 

“ And what does he mean ? ” 

“ He ? ” cried Adela. “ Oh, he’s not human.” 

“Nay, but he’s terribly human,” said the old 
Baron. 

Adela looked round at him, but then turned 
away. 

“ I know what I would say, but I may not 
say it,” pursued the Baron. “To you 1 may 
not say it. I know him. He will take, if he is 
offered.” 

His voice sank to a whisper. 

“Then, God help her,” murmured Adela 
under her breath, while her cheeks flamed red. 

“ Yes, he will take, and he will go. Ah, he is 
a man to follow and to believe in — to trust your 
194 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


money, your fortune, your plans, even your 
secrets to ; but — ” 

He paused, flinging away his extinct cigar. 

“Well ? ” asked Adela in a low tone, eager in 
spite of her hatred of the topic. 

“Never your love,” said he ; and added, “ yet 
I believe I, who am old enough to know better, 
and too old to learn better, have almost given 
him mine. Well, I am not a woman.” 

“ He can’t hurt you,” said Adela. 

“Yes, he can,” said the Baron with a dreary 
smile. 

Adela was not thinking of her companion. 

“Why do you talk of it?” she asked im- 
patiently. 

“ I know I was wrong.” 

“ No, no. I mean, why do you talk of it now? ” 

“ Because,” said the Baron, “ he will not. 
Have you seen no change in him this week? 
A week ago, he laughed when I talked to him. 
He did not mind me speaking — it was still a 
trifle — nonsense — a week ago ; if you like, an 
amusement, a pastime ! ” 

“ Well, and now? ” 

“Now he tells me to hold my tongue. And 
yet I am glad for one thing. That girl will not 
have him for a husband.” 

“ Glad ! Why, Baron, don’t you see — ” 

“Yes, I see. Still I am glad.” 

195 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ I can’t go on talking about it ; but is there 
no hope ? ” 

“ Where is it ? For the time — mind you for 
the time — he is under that other woman’s 
power.” 

“ She’s under his, you mean.” 

“I mean both. She was a friend of yours? 
Yes. She is not altogether a bad woman; but 
she has had a bad fortune. Ah, there she is, 
and he with her.” 

As he spoke, Mrs. Dennison and Ruston came 
by. Mrs. Dennison flung them a glance of 
recognition ; it was hardly more, and even for so 
much she seemed to grudge the interruption. 
Ruston’s greeting was more ceremonious ; he 
smiled, but his brows contracted a little, and he 
said to his companion, 

“ Miss Ferrars isn’t pleased with me.” 

‘ fi That hurts ? ” she asked lightly. 

“No,” he answered, after a short pause, “I 
don’t know that it does.” 

But the frown dwelt a little longer on his face. 

“ Sit down here,” she said, and they sat down 
in full view of Adela and the Baron, about 
twenty yards off. 

“ She’s mad,” murmured Adela, and the Baron 
muttered assent. 

It was the time of the morning when every- 
body was out. Presently Lord and Lady 
196 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


Semingham strolled by — Lady Semingham did 
not see Maggie Dennison, her husband did, and 
Adela caught the look in his eye. Then down 
from the hill and on to the grass came Marjory 
Valentine. She saw both couples, and, for a 
perceptible moment, stood wavering between 
them. She looked pale and weary. Mrs. Den- 
nison indicated her with the slightest gesture. 

“ You were asking for her. There she is,” she 
said to Willie Ruston. 

“Well, I think I’ll go and ask her.” 

“What?” 

“ To come for a walk.” 

“ Now? ” 

“ Why not ? ” he asked with a surprised smile. 

As he spoke, Marjory’s hesitation ended ; she 
joined Adela and the Baron. 

“ How rude you are ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Denni- 
son angrily ; “ you asked me to come out with 
you.” 

“ So I did. By Jove, so I did! But you 
don’t walk, do you? And I feel rather like a 
walk now.” 

“ Oh, if you prefer her society — ” 

“ Her prattle,” he said, smiling, “ amuses me. 
You and I always discuss high matters, you see.” 

“ She doesn’t prattle, and you know it.” 

He looked at her for a moment. He had gone 
so far as to rise, but he resumed his seat. 

197 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ What’s the matter? ” he asked tolerantly. 

Maggie Dennison’s lip quivered. The week 
that had passed had been a stormy one to her. 
There had been a breaking down of barriers — 
barriers of honour, conscience, and pride. All 
she could do to gain or keep her mastery she 
had done. She had all but thrown herself at his 
feet. She hated to think of the things she had 
said or half-said ; and she had seen Marjory’s 
eyes look wondering horror and pitying con- 
tempt at her. Of her husband she would not 
think. And she had won in return — she knew 
not what. It hung still in the balance. Some- 
times he would seem engrossed in her ; but again 
he would turn to Marjory or another with a kind 
of relief, as though she wearied him. And of 
her struggles, of the great humiliations she suf- 
fered, of all she sacrificed to him, he seemed 
unconscious. Yet, cost what it might, she could 
not let him go now. The screen of Omofaga 
was dropped ; she knew that it was the man 
whose life she was resolute to fill ; whether she 
called it love for him or what else mattered 
little ; it seemed rather a mere condition of ex- 
istence, necessary yet not sweet, even revolting ; 
but its alternative was death. 

She had closed her eyes for a moment under 
the stress of her pain. When she opened them, 
he was looking at her. And the look she knew 
198 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


was at last in his eyes. She put up her hand to 
ward it off ; it woke her horror, but it woke her 
delight also. She could not choose whether to 
banish it, or to live in it all her life. She tried to 
speak, but her utterance was choked. 

“ Why, I believe you’re— jealous,” said Willie 
Ruston. “ But then they always say I’m a con- 
ceited chap.” 

He spoke with a laugh, but he looked at her 
intently. The little scene was the climax of a 
week’s gradual betrayal. Often in all the hours 
they had spent together, in all the engrossing 
talks they had had, something of the kind had 
appeared and disappeared ; he had wondered at 
her changefulness, her moods of expansion and 
of coldness — a rapturous greeting of him to be 
followed by a cold dismissal — an eager sympathy 
alternating with wilful indifference. She had, 
too, fits of prudence, when she would not go 
with him — and then spasms of recklessness when 
her manner seemed to defy all restraint and 
mock at the disapproval of her friends. On these 
puzzles — to him, preoccupied as he was and little 
versed in such matters, they had seemed such — 
the present moment shed its light. He recalled, 
with understanding, things that had passed 
meaninglessly before his eyes, that he seemed 
to have forgotten altogether; the ambiguous 
things became plain ; what had been, though 
199 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


plain, yet strange, fell into its ordered place and 
became natural. The new relation between them 
proclaimed itself the interpretation and the work 
of the bygone week. 

Her glove lay in her lap, and he touched it 
lightly; the gesture speaking of their sudden 
new familiarity. 

Her reproach was no less eloquent ; she re- 
buked not the thing, but the rashness of it. 

“ Don't do that. They’re looking,” she found 
voice to whisper. 

He withdrew his hand, and, taking off his 
hat, pushed the hair back from his forehead. 
Presently he looked at her with an almost 
comical air of perplexity ; she was conscious of 
the glance, but she would not meet it. He 
pursed his lips to whistle. 

“Don’t,” she whispered sharply. “Don’t 
whistle.” A whistle brought her husband to her 
mind. 

The checked whistle rudely reflected his min- 
gled feelings. He wished that he had been more 
on his guard — against her and against himself. 
There had been enough to put him on his guard ; 
if he had been put on his guard, this thing need 
not have happened. He called the thing in his 
thoughts “ inconvenient.” He was marvellously 
awake to the inconvenience of it; it was that 
which came uppermost in his mind as he sat by 
200 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


Maggie Dennison. Yet, in spite of a phrase that 
sounded so cold and brutal, his reflections paid 
her no little compliment ; for he called the reve- 
lation inconvenient all the more, and most of all, 
because he found it of immense interest, because 
it satisfied suddenly and to the full a sense of 
interest and expectation that had been upon him, 
because it seemed to make an immense change 
in his mind and to alter the conditions of his 
life. Had it not done all this, its inconvenience 
would have been much less — to him and save 
in so far as he grieved for her — nay, it would 
have been, in reality, nothing. It was incon- 
venient because it twisted his purposes, set him 
at jar with himself, and cut across the orderly 
lines he had laid down — and because, though 
it did all this, he was not grieved or angry at it. 

He rose to his feet. Mrs. Dennison looked up 
quickly. 

“ I shall go for my walk now,” he said, and he 
added in answer to her silent question, “ Oh, yes, 
alone. I’ve got a thing or two I want to think 
about.” 

Her eyes dropped as he spoke. He had 
smiled, and she, in spite of herself, had smiled 
in answer ; but she could not look at him while 
she smiled. He stood there for an instant, smil- 
ing still; then he grew grave, and turned to 
walk away. Her sigh witnessed the relaxation 
201 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


of the strain. But, after one step, he faced her 
again, and said, as though the idea had just struck 
him, 

44 I say, when does Dennison come ? ” 

44 In a week,” she answered. 

For just a moment again, he stood still, 
thoughtfully looking at her. Then he lifted his 
hat, wheeled round, and walked briskly off tow- 
ards the jetty at the far end of the expanse of 
grass. Adela Ferrars, twenty yards off, marked 
his going with a sigh of relief. 

Mrs. Dennison sat where she was a little while 
longer. Her agitation was quickly passing, and 
there followed on it a feeling of calm. She 
seemed to have resigned charge of herself, to 
have given her conduct into another’s keeping. 
She did not know what he would do; he had 
uttered no word of pleasure or pain, praise or 
blame ; and that question at the last — about her 
husband — was ambiguous. Did he ask it, fear- 
ing Harry’s arrival, or did he think the arrival of 
her husband would end an awkward position and 
set him free? Really, she did not know. She 
had done what she could — and what she could 
not help. He must do what he liked — only, 
knowing him, she did not think that she had set 
an end to their acquaintance. And that for the 
moment was enough. 

44 A woman, Bessie,” she heard a voice behind 
202 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 

her saying, “may be anything from a cosmic force 
to a clothes-peg.” 

“ I don’t know what a cosmic force is,” said 
Lady Semingham. 

“ A cosmic force ? Why — ” 

“ But I don’t want to know, Alfred. Why, 
Maggie, that’s a new shade of brown on your 
shoes. Where do you get them ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison gave her bootmaker’s address, 
and Lady Semingham told her husband to re- 
member it. She never remembered that he al- 
ways forgot such things. 

The arrival of the Seminghams seemed to break 
the spell which had held Mrs. Dennison apart 
from the group over against her. Adela strolled 
across, followed by Marjory, and the Baron on 
Marjory’s arm. The whole party gathered in a 
cluster ; but Marjory hung loosely on the out- 
skirts of the circle, and seemed scarcely to belong 
to it. 

The Baron seated himself in the place Willie 
Ruston had left empty. The rest stood talking 
for a minute or two, then Semingham put his 
hand in his pocket and drew out a folded sheet 
of tracing-paper. 

“We’re all Omofagites here, aren’t we?” he 
said ; “ even you, Baron, now. Here’s a plan 
Carlin has just sent me. It shows our terri- 
tory.” 


203 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Everybody crowded round to look as he un- 
folded it. Mrs. Dennison was first in undis- 
guised eagerness; and Marjory came closer, slip- 
ping her arm through Adela Ferrars’. 

“ What does the blue mean ? ” asked Adela. 

“Native settlements.” 

“ Oh ! And all that brown ? — it’s mostly 
brown.” 

“ Brown,” answered Semingham, with a slight 
smile, “ means unexplored country.” 

“ I should have made it all brown, ” said 
Adela, and the Baron gave an appreciative 
chuckle. 

“And what are these little red crosses?” 
asked Mrs. Dennison, laying the tip of her finger 
on one. 

“ Eh ? What, those ? Oh, let me see. Here, 
just hold it while I look at Carlin’s letter. He 
explains it all,” and Lord Semingham began to 
fumble in his breast-pocket. 

“Dear me,” said Bessie Semingham in a tone 
of delicate pleasure. “They look like tomb- 
stones ! ” 

“Hush, hush, my dear lady,” cried the old 
Baron ; “what a bad omen.” 

“Tombstones,” echoed Maggie Dennison 
thoughtfully. “So they do — just like tomb- 
stones.” 

A pause fell on the group. Adela broke it. 

204 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


“ W ell, Director, have you found your direc- 
tions ? ” she asked briskly. 

“ It was a momentary lapse of memory,” 
said Semingham with dignity. “Those — er — 
little—” 

44 No, not tombstones,” interrupted the Baron 
earnestly. 

44 Little — er — signposts are, of course, the forts 
belonging to the Company. What else should 
they be? ” 

44 Oh, j forts” murmured everybody. 

44 They are,” continued Lord Semingham 
apologetically, 44 in the nature of a prophecy at 
present, as I understand.” 

44 A very bad prophecy, according to Bessie,” 
said Mrs. Dennison. 

44 1 hope,” said the Baron, shaking his head, 
44 that the official name is more correct than 
Lady Semingham’s.” 

44 So do I,” said Marjory; and added, before 
she could think not to add, and with unlucky 
haste, 44 my brother’s going out, you know.” 

Mrs. Dennison looked at her. Then she 
crossed over to her, saying to Adela, 

44 You never let me have a word with my own 
guest, except at breakfast and bedtime. Come 
and walk up and down with me, Marjory.” 

Marjory obeyed ; the group began to scatter. 

44 But didn’t they look like tombstones, 
14 205 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Baron ? ” said Bessie Semingham again, as she 
sat down and made room for the old man beside 
her. When she had an idea she liked it very 
much. He began to be voluble in his reproof 
of her gloomy fancies ; but she merely laughed 
in glee at her ingenuity. 

Adela, by a gesture, brought Semingham to 
her side and walked a few paces off with him. 

44 Will you go with me to the post-office?” 
she said abruptly. 

44 By all means,” he answered, feeling for his 
glass. 

44 Oh, you needn’t get your glass to spy at me 
with.” 

44 Dear, dear, you use one yourself! ” 

44 I’ll tell you myself why I’m going. You’re 
going to send a telegram.” 

44 Am I?” 

4 4 Yes; to invite someone to stay with you. 
Lord Semingham, when you find a woman relies 
on a man — on one man only — in trouble, what 
do you think? ” 

She asked the question in a level voice, look- 
ing straight before her. 

44 That she’s fond of him.” 

44 And does he — the man — think the same ? ” 

44 Generally. I think most men would. 
They’re seldom backward to think it, you 
know.” 


206 


THE WORK OF A WEEK 


44 Then,” she said steadily, “ you must think, 
and he must think, what you like. I can’t help 
it. I want you to wire and ask a man to come 
and stay with you.” 

He turned to her in surprise. 

44 Tom Loring,” she said, and the moment the 
name left her lips Semingham hastily turned his 
glance away. 

44 Awkward — with the other fellow here,” he 
ventured to suggest. 

44 Mr. Ruston doesn’t choose your guests.” 

44 But Mrs.— ” 

44 Oh, fancy talking of awkwardness now ! He 
used to influence her once, you know. Perhaps 
he might still. Do let us try,” and her voice 
trembled in earnestness. 

44 We’ll try. Will he come? He’s very 
angry with her.” 

And Adela answered, still looking straight in 
front of her, 

44 I’m going to send him a wire, too.” 

44 I’m very glad to hear it,” said Lord Sem- 
ingham. 


207 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE LAST BARRIERS 

Willie Ruston rested his elbows on the jetty- 
wall and gazed across the harbour entrance. He 
had come there to think; and deliberate think- 
ing was a rare thing for him to set his head to. 
His brain dealt generally — even with great mat- 
ters, as all brains deal with small — in rapid half- 
unconscious beats ; the process coalescing so 
closely with the decision as to be merged before 
it could be recognised. But about this matter 
he meant to think; and the first result of his 
determination was (as it often is in such a case) 
that nothing at all relevant would stay by him. 
There was a man fishing near, and he watched 
the float ; he looked long at the big hotel at 
Puys, which faced him a mile away, and idly 
wondered whether it were full ; he followed the 
egress of a fishing boat with strict attention. 
Then, in impatience, he turned round and sat 
down on the stone bench and let his eyes see 
nothing but the flags of the pavement. Even 
then he hardly thought; but after a time he be- 
came vaguely occupied with Maggie Dennison, 
203 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


his mind playing to and fro over her voice, her 
tricks of manner, her very gait, and at last set- 
tling more or less resolutely on the strange 
revelation of herself which she had gradually 
made and had consummated that day. It 
changed his feelings towards her ; but it did not 
change them to contempt. He had his ideas, 
but he did not make ideal figures out of hu- 
manity; and humanity could go very far wrong 
and sink very deep in its lower possibilities with- 
out shocking him. Nor did he understand her, 
nor realise how great a struggle had brought 
what he saw to birth. It seemed to him a thing 
not unnatural, even in her, who was in much 
unlike most other women. There are dominions 
that are not to be resisted, and we do not think 
people weak simply because they are under our 
own influence. His surprise was reserved for 
the counter-influence which he felt, and strove 
not to acknowledge ; his contempt for the dis- 
turbance into which he himself was thrown. At 
that he was half-displeased, puzzled, and alarmed ; 
yet that, too, had its delight. 

4 4 What rot it is ! ” he muttered, in the rude 
dialect of self-communion, which sums up a be- 
wildering conflict in a word of slang. 

He was afraid of himself — and his exclamation 
betrayed the fear. Men of strong will are not 
all will ; the strong will has other strong things 
209 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

to fight, and the strong head has mighty rebels 
to hold down. That he felt ; but his fear of 
himself had its limits. He was not the man — as 
he saw very well at this moment, and recognised 
with an odd mixture of pride and humiliation — 
to give up his life to a passion. Had that been 
the issue clearly and definitely set before him he 
would not have sat doubtful on the jetty. He 
understood what of nobility lay in such a tem- 
perament, and his humiliation was because it 
made no part of him ; but the pride overmas- 
tered, and at last he was glad to say to himself 
that there was no danger of his losing all for love. 
Indeed, was he in love ? In love in the grand 
sense people talked and wrote about so much ? 
Well, there were other senses, and there were 
many degrees. The question he weighed, or 
rather the struggle which he was undergoing, 
was between resisting or yielding before a temp- 
tation to take into his life something which 
should not absorb it, but yet in a measure alter 
it, which allured him all the more enticingly be- 
cause, judging as he best could, he could see no 
price which must be paid for it — well, except 
one. And, as the one came into his mind, it 
made him pause, and he mused on it, looking at 
it in all lights. Sometimes he put the price as 
an act of wrong which would stain him — for, 
apart from other, maybe greater, maybe more 
210 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


fanciful obstacles, Harry Dennison held him for a 
friend — sometimes as an act of weakness which 
would leave him vulnerable. And, after these 
attempted reasonings, he would fall again to 
thinking of Maggie Dennison, her voice, her man- 
ner, and the revelation of herself ; and in these 
picturings the reasoning died away. 

There are a few deliberate sinners, a few by 
whom “ Evil, be thou my Good ” is calmly ut- 
tered as a dedication and a sacrament, but most 
men do not make up their minds to be sinners or 
determine in cool resolve to do acts of the sort 
that lurked behind Willie Ruston’s picturings. 
They only fail to make up their minds not to do 
them. Ruston, in a fury of impatience, swept 
all his musing from him — it led to nothing. It 
left him where he was. He was vexing himself 
needlessly; he told himself that he could not 
decide what he ought to do. In truth, he did 
not choose to decide what it was that he chose 
to do. And with the thoughts that he drove 
away went the depression they had carried with 
them. He was confident again in himself, his 
destiny, his career ; and in its fancied greatness, 
the turmoil he had suffered sank to its small pro- 
portions. He returned to his old standpoint, and 
to the old medley of pride and shame it gave 
him; he might be of supreme importance to 
Maggie Dennison, but she was only of some im- 
211 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


portance to him. He could live without her. 
But, at present, he regarded her loss as a thing 
not necessary to undergo. 

It was late in the day that he met young Sir 
Walter, who ran to him, open-mouthed with 
news. Walter was afraid that the news would 
be unpalatable, and could not understand such 
want of tact in Semingham. To ask Tom Lor- 
ing while Ruston was there argued a bluntness 
of perception strange to young Sir W alter. But, 
be the news good or bad, he had only to report; 
and report it he did straightway to his chief. 
Willie Ruston smiled, and said that, if Loring 
did not mind meeting him, he did not mind 
meeting Loring ; indeed, he would welcome the 
opportunity of proving to that unbeliever that 
there was water somewhere within a hundred 
miles of Fort Imperial (which Tom in one of 
those articles had sturdily denied). Then he 
flirted away a stone with his stick and asked if 
anyone had yet told Mrs. Dennison. And, Sir 
Walter thinking not, he said, 

“ Oh, well, I’m going there. I’ll tell her.” 

‘ 4 She’ll know why he’s coming,” said Walter, 
nodding his head wisely. 

“ Will she ? Do you know ? ” asked Ruston 
with a smile — young Sir Walter’s wisdom was 
always sure of that tribute from him. 

“ If you’d seen Adela Ferrars, you’d know too. 

212 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


She tries to make believe it’s nothing, but she’s 
— oh, she’s — ” 

44 Well?” 

“ She’s all of a flutter,” laughed Walter. 

“You’ve got to the bottom of that,” said 
Ruston in a tone of conviction. 

44 Still, I think it’s inconsiderate of Loring; 
he must know that Mrs. Dennison will find it 
rather awkward. But, of course, if a fellow’s in 
love, he won’t think of that.” 

“ I suppose not,” said Willie Ruston, smiling 
again at this fine scorn. 

Then, with a sudden impulse, struck perhaps 
with an envy of what he laughed at, he put 
his arm through his young friend’s, and ex- 
claimed, with a friendly confidential pressure of 
the hand, 

44 I say, Val, I wish the devil we were in Omo- 
faga, — don’t you? ” 

4 4 Rather ! ” came full and rich from his com- 
panion’s lips. 

44 With a few thousand miles between us and 
everything — and everybody ! ” 

Young Sir Walter’s eyes sparkled. 

44 Off in three months now,” he reminded his 
leader exultingly. 

It could not be. The Fates will not help in 
such a fashion, it is not their business to cut the 
noose a man ties round his neck — happy is he if 
213 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


they do not draw it tight. With a sigh, Willie 
Ruston dropped his companion’s arm, and left 
him with no other farewell than a careless nod. 
Of Tom Loring’s coming he thought little. It 
might be that Sir Walter had seen most of its 
meaning, and that Semingham was acting as a 
benevolent matchmaker — a character strange for 
him, and amusing to see played — but, no doubt, 
there was a little more. Probably Tom had 
some idea of turning him from his path, of com- 
bating his influence, of disputing his power. 
Well, Tom had tried that once, and had failed; 
he would fail again. Maggie Dennison had not 
hesitated to resent such interference; she had at 
once (Ruston expressed it to himself) put Tom 
in his right place. Tom would be no more to 
her at Dieppe than in London — nay, he would 
be less, for any power unbroken friendship and 
habit might have had then would be gone by 
now. Thus, though he saw the other meaning, 
he made light of it, and it was as a bit of gossip 
concerning Adela Ferrars, not as tidings which 
might affect herself, that he told Mrs. Dennison 
of Tom’s impending arrival. 

On her the announcement had a very different 
effect. For her the whole significance lay in 
what Ruston ignored, and none in what had 
caught his fancy. He was amazed to see the 
rush of colour to her cheeks. 

214 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


“Tom Loring coming here!” she cried in 
something like horror. 

Again, and with a laugh, Ruston pointed out 
the motive of his coming, as young Sir Walter 
had interpreted it ; but he added, as though in 
concession, and with another laugh, 

“ Perhaps he wants to keep his eye on me, too. 
He doesn’t trust me further than he can see me, 
you know.” 

Without looking at him or seeming to listen 
to his words, she asked, in low indignant tones, 

“ How dare he come ? ” 

Willie Ruston opened his eyes. He did not 
understand so much emotion spent on such a 
trifle. Say it was bad taste in Loring to come, 
or an impertinence ! W ell, it was not a tragedy 
at all events. He was almost angry with her 
for giving importance to it ; and the importance 
she gave set him wondering. But before he 
could translate his feeling into words, she turned 
to him, leaning across the table that stood be- 
tween them, and clasping her hands. 

“ I can’t bear to have him here now,” she 
murmured. 

“What harm will he do? You needn’t see 
anything of him,” rejoined Ruston, more as- 
tonished at each new proof of disquietude in 
her. 

But Tom Loring was not to be so lightly dis- 
215 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


missed from her mind ; and she did not seem to 
heed when Ruston added, with a laugh, 

“You got rid of him once, didn’t you? I 
should think you could again.” 

“Ah, then! That was different.” 

He looked at her curiously. She was agi- 
tated, but there seemed to be more than agita- 
tion. As he read it, it was fear ; and discerning 
it, he spoke in growing surprise and rising irrita- 
tion. 

“ You look as if you were afraid of him.” 

“ Afraid of him? ” she broke out. “ Yes, I am 
afraid of him.” 

“ Of Loring? ” he exclaimed in sheer wonder. 
“ Why, in heaven’s name ? Loring’s not — ” 

He was going to say, “your husband,” but 
stopped himself. 

“ I can’t face him,” she whispered. “ Oh, you 
know! Why do you torment me? Or don’t 
you know? Oh, how strange you are! ” 

And now there was fear in her eyes when she 
looked at Ruston. 

He sat still a moment, and then in slow tones 
he said, 

“ I don’t see what concern your affairs are of 
Loring’s — or mine either, by God ! ” 

At the last word his voice rose a little, and his 
lips shut tight as it left them. 

“ Oh, it’s easy for you,” she said, half in anger 
216 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


at him, half in scorn of herself. “You don’t 
know what he is — what he was — to me.” 

“ What was Loring to you? ” he asked in 
sharp, imperious tones — tones that made her 
hurriedly cry, 

“ No, no ; not that, not that. How could you 
think that of me? ” 

“ What then? ” came curt and crisp from him, 
her reproach falling unheeded. 

“ Oh, I wish — I wish you could understand 
just a little! Do you think it’s all nothing to 
me? Do you think I don’t mind? ” 

“ I don’t know what it is to you,” he said dog- 
gedly. “ I know it’s nothing to Loring.” 

“ I don’t believe,” she went on, “ that he’s 
coming because of Adela at all.” 

And as she spoke, she met his eyes for a mo- 
ment, and then shrank from them. 

“ Come, shall we speak plainly ? ” he asked 
with evident impatience. 

“Ah, you will, I know,” she wailed, with 
a smile and a despairing gesture. She loved 
and dreaded him for it. “Not too plainly, 
Willie!” 

His mouth relaxed. 

“ Why do you worry about the fellow? ” he 
asked. 

“Well, I’ll speak plainly, too,” she cried. 
“He’s not a fool; and he’s an honest man. 

217 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


That’s why I don’t want him here ; ” and 
enduring only till she had flung out the truth, 
she buried her face in her hands. 

4 4 I’ve had enough of him,” said Willie Ruston, 
frowning. 44 He’s always got in my way ; first 
about the Company — and now — ” 

He broke off, pushing his chair back, and 
rising to his feet. He walked to the window 
of the little sitting-room where they were ; the 
sun was setting over the sea, and early dusk 
gathering. It was still, save for the sound of 
the waves. 

44 Is there nobody at home ? ” he asked, with 
his back towards her. 

44 No. Marjory and the children have gone 
down to the Rovie to have tea with Bessie Sem- 
ingham.” 

He waited a moment longer, looking out, 
then he came back and stood facing her. She 
was leaning her head on her hand. At last she 
spoke in a low voice. 

44 He’s Harry’s friend,” she said, 44 and he used 
to be mine ; and he trusted me.” 

Willie Ruston threw his head back with a 
little sharp jerk. 

44 Oh, well, I didn’t come to talk about Tom 
Loring,” he said. 44 If you value his opinion so 
very much, why, you must keep it; that’s all,” 
and he moved towards where his hat was lying. 

218 


THE LAST BARRIERS 

“ But I’m afraid I can’t share my friends with 
him.” 

“ Oh, I know you won’t share anything with 
anybody,” said Maggie Dennison, her voice 
trembling between a sob and a laugh. 

He turned instantly. His face lighted up, 
and the sun, casting its last rays on her eyes, 
made them answer with borrowed brilliance. 

“ I won’t share you with Loring, anyhow,” he 
cried, walking close up to her, and resting his 
hand on the table. 

She laid hers gently on it. 

“ Don’t go to Omofaga, Willie,” she said. 

For a moment he sheerly stared at her; then 
he burst into a merry unrestrained peal of laugh- 
ter. Next he lifted her hand and kissed it. 

“You are the most wonderful woman in 
the world,” said he, his mouth quivering with 
amusement. 

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed, throwing her arms 
wide for a moment. 

“Well, what’s the matter? What have I 
done wrong now ? ” 

She rose and walked up and down the room. 

“ I wish I’d never seen you,” she said from 
the far end of it. 

“ I wish I’d never seen — Tom Loring.” 

“ Ah, that’s the only thing ! ” she cried. “ I 
may live or I may die, or I may — do anything 
219 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


you like ; but I mustn’t have another friend ! 
I mustn’t give a thought to what anybody else 
thinks of me ! ” 

“You mustn’t balance me against Tom Lor- 
ing,” he answered between his teeth, all signs of 
his merriment gone now. 

For a moment — not long, but seeming very 
long — there was silence in the room ; and, while 
the brief stillness reigned, she fought a last battle 
against him, calling loyalty and friendship to 
her aid, praying their alliance against the over- 
bearing demand he made on her — against his 
roughness, his blindness to all she suffered for 
him. But the strife was short. Lifting her 
hands above her head, and bringing them down 
through the air as with a blow, she cried, 

“ My God, I balance nothing against you ! ” 

Her reward — her only reward — seemed on 
the instant to be hers. Willie Ruston was 
transformed ; his sullenness was gone ; his eyes 
were alight with triumph ; the smile she loved 
was on his lips, and he had forgotten those 
troubled, useless, mazy musings on the jetty. 
He took a quick step towards her, holding out 
both his hands. She clasped them. 

“ Nothing ? ” he asked in a low tone. “ Noth- 
ing, Maggie ? ” 

She bowed her head for answer; it was the 
attitude of surrender, of helplessness, and of 
220 


THE LAST BARRIERS 


trust, and it appealed to the softer feeling in 
him which her resistance had smothered. He 
was strongly moved, and his face was pale as he 
drew her to him and kissed her lips ; but all he 
said was, 

44 Then the deuce take Tom Loring ! ” 

It seemed to her enough. The light devil- 
may-care words surely covered a pledge from 
him to her — something in return from him to 
her. At last, surely, he was hers, and her 
wishes his law. It was her moment ; she would 
ask of him now the uttermost wish of her heart 
— the wish that had displaced all else — the pas- 
sionate wish not to lose him — not, as it were, to 
be emptied of him. 

44 And Omofaga ? ” she whispered. 

“His eyes looked past her, out into the dim 
twilight, into the broad world — the world that 
she seemed to ask him to give for her, as she 
was giving her world for him. He laughed 
again, but not as he had laughed before. There 
was a note of wonder in his laugh now — of 
wonder that the prayer seemed now not so ut- 
terly absurd — that he could imagine himself 
doing even that — spoiling his heart of its darling 
ambition — for her. Yet, even in that moment of 
her strongest sway, as her arms were about him, 
he was swearing to himself that he would not. 

She did not press for an answer. A glance 
15 221 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


into his distant eyes gave her one, perhaps, for 
she sighed as though in pain. Hearing her, he 
bent his look on her again. Though he might 
deny that last boon, he had given her much. So 
she read ; and, drawing herself to her full height, 
she released one of her hands from his, and held 
it out to him. For a moment he hesitated ; 
then, a slow smile breaking on his face, he bent 
and kissed it, and she whispered over his bent 
head, half in triumph, half in apology for bid- 
ding him bend his head even in love, 

“ I like pretending to be queen — even with 
you, Willie.” 

Her flattery, so sweet to him, because it was 
wrung from her all against her will, and was 
for him alone of men, thrilled through him 
and he was drawing her to him again when the 
merry chatter of a child struck on their ears 
from the garden. 

She shrank back. 

“ Hark ! ” she murmured. “ They’re coming.” 

“ Yes,” he said, with a frown. “ I shall come 
to-morrow, Maggie.” 

“ To-morrow ? Every day ? ” said she. 

“Well, then, every day. But to-morrow all 
day.” 

“ Ah, yes, all day to-morrow.” 

“ But I must go now.” 

“No, no, don’t go,” she said quickly. “Sit 
222 


THE LAST BARRIERS 

down; see, sit there. Don’t look as if you’d 
thought of going.” 

He did as she bade him, trying to assume an 
indifferent air. 

She, too, sat down, her eyes fixed on the door. 
A strange look of pain and shame spread over 
her face. She must bend to deceive her children, 
to dread detection, to play little tricks and weave 
little devices against the eyes of those for whom 
she had been an earthly providence — the highest, 
most powerful, and best they knew. Willie 
Ruston did not follow the thought that stamped 
its mark on her face then, nor understand why, 
with a sudden gasp, she dashed her hand across 
her eyes and turned to him with trembling lips, 
crying, in low tones, 

“ Ah, but I have you, Willie ! ” 

Before he could answer her appeal, the voices 
were in the passage. Her face grew calm, save 
for a slight frown on her brow. She shaped her 
lips into a smile to meet the incomers. She shot 
a rapid glance of caution and warning at him. 
The door was flung open, and the three children 
rushed in, Madge at their head. Madge, seeing 
Willie Ruston, stopped short, and her laughter 
died away. She turned and said, 

“ Marjory, here’s Mr. Ruston.” 

None could mistake her tone for one of wel- 
come. 

223 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Marjory Valentine came forward. She looked 
at neither of them, but sat down near the table. 

‘ 4 Well, Madge,” said Mrs. Dennison, “ there's 
good news for you, isn’t there ? Your friend’s 
coming.” 

Madge, finding (as she thought) sympathy, 
came to her mother’s knee. 

“ Yes, I’m glad,” she said. “Are you glad, 
mother ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind,” answered Mrs. Dennison, 
kissing her; but she could not help one glance 
at Willie Ruston. Bitterly she repented it, for 
she found Marjory Valentine following it with 
her open, sorrowful eyes. She rose abruptly, 
and Ruston rose also, and with brief good-nights 
— Madge being kissed only on strong persuasion 
— took his leave. The children flocked away to 
take off their hats, and Marjory was left alone 
with her hostess. 

The girl looked pale, weary, and sad. Mrs. 
Dennison was stirred to an impulse of compas- 
sion. Walking up to where she sat, she bent 
down as though to kiss her. Marjory looked up. 
There was a question — it seemed to be a ques- 
tion — in her face. Mrs. Dennison flushed red 
from neck to forehead, and then grew paler than 
the pallor she had pitied. The girl’s unspoken 
question seemed to echo hauntingly from every 
corner of the little room, Are your lips — clean ? 

224 


CHAPTER XVII 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 

Slow in forming, swift in acting; slow in the 
making, swift in the working; slow to the sum- 
mit, swift down the other slope ; it is the way of 
nature, and the way of the human mind. What 
seemed yesterday unborn and impossible, is to- 
day incipient and a great way off, to-morrow 
complete, present, and accomplished. After 
long labour a thing springs forth full grown ; to 
deny it, or refuse it, or fight against it, seems 
now as vain as a few hours ago it was to hope 
for it, or to fear, or to imagine or conceive it. In 
like manner, the slow, crawling, upward journey 
can be followed by every eye; its turns, its 
twists, its checks, its zigzags may be recorded 
on a chart. Then is the brief pause — on the 
summit — and the tottering incline towards the 
declivity. But how describe what comes after ? 
The dazzling rush that beats the eye, that in its 
fury of advance, its paroxysm of speed, is void 
of halts or turns, and, darting from point to 
point, covers and blurs the landscape till there 
seems nothing but the moving thing; and that 
again, while the watcher still tries vainly to catch 
225 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


its whirl, has sprung, and reached, and ceased ; 
and, save that there it was and here it is, he 
would not know that its fierce stir had been. 

Such a race runs passion to its goal, when the 
reins hang loose. Hours may do what years 
have not done, and minutes sum more changes 
than long days could stretch to hold. The world 
narrows till there would seem to be nothing else 
existent in it — nothing of all that once held out 
the promise (sure as it then claimed to be) of 
escape, of help, or warning. The very promise 
is forgotten, the craving for its fulfilment dies 
away. “Let me alone,” is the only cry; and 
the appeal makes its own answer, the entreaty 
its own concession. 

Some thirty hours had passed since the last 
recorded scene, and Marjory Valentine was still 
under Mrs. Dennison’s roof. It had been hard 
to stay, but the girl would not give up her self- 
imposed, hopeless task. Helpless she had proved, 
and hopeless she had become. The day had 
passed with hardly a word spoken between her 
and her hostess. Mrs. Dennison had been out 
the greater part of the time, and, when out, she 
had been with Ruston. She had come in to 
dinner at half-past seven, and at nine had gone 
to her room, pleading fatigue and a headache. 
Marjory had sat up a little longer, with an un- 
opened book on her knee. Then she also went 
226 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 

to bed, and tried vainly to sleep. She had left 
her bed now, and, wrapped in a dressing-gown, 
sat in a low arm-chair near the window. It was 
a dark and still night ; a thick fog hung over the 
little garden ; nothing was to be heard save the 
gentle roll of a quiet sea, and the occasional 
blast of a steam whistle. Marjory’s watch had 
stopped, but she guessed it to be somewhere in 
the small hours of the morning — one o’clock, 
perhaps, or nearing two. There was an infinite 
weary time, then, before the sun would shine 
again, and the oppression of the misty darkness 
be lifted off. She hated the night — this night — 
it savoured not of rest to her, but of death ; for 
she was wrought to a nervous strain, and felt her 
imaginings taking half-bodily shapes about her, 
so that she was fearful of looking to the right 
hand or the left. Sleep was impossible; to try 
to sleep was like a surrender to the mysterious 
enemies round her. Time seemed to stand still; 
she counted sixty once, to mark a minute’s flight, 
and the counting took an eternity. The house 
was utterly noiseless, and she shivered at the 
silence. She would have given half her life, she 
felt, for a ray of the sun ; but half a life stretched 
between her and the first break of morning. 
Sitting there, she heaped terrors round her; the 
superstitions that hide their heads before daytime 
mockery reared them now in victory and made a 
227 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


prey of her. The struggle she had in her weak- 
ness entered on seemed less now with human 
frailty than against the strong and evil purpose 
of some devil ; in face of which she was naught. 
How should she be ? She had not, she told her- 
self in morbid upbraiding, even a pure motive in 
the fight ; her hatred of the sin had been less 
keen had she not once desired the love of him 
that caused it, and when she arrested Maggie 
Dennison’s kiss, she shamed a rival in rebuking 
an unfaithful wife. Then she cried rebelliously 
against her anguish. Why had this come on 
her, darkening bright youth ? Why was she 
compassed about with trouble ? And why — 
why — why did not the morning come ? 

The mist was thick and grey against the 
window. A fog-horn roared, and the sea, 
regardless, repeated its even beat; behind the 
feeble interruptions there sounded infinite 
silence. She hid her face in her hands. Then 
she leapt up and flung the window open wide. 
The damp fog-folds settled on her face, but she 
heard the sea more plainly, and there were 
sounds in the air about her. It was not so ter- 
ribly quiet. She peered eagerly through the 
mist, but saw nothing save vague tremulous 
shapes, vacant of identity. Still the world, the 
actual, earthly, healthy world, was there — a 
refuge from imagination. 

228 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


She stood looking; and, as she looked, one 
shape seemed to grow into a nearer likeness of 
something definite. It was motionless; it dif- 
fered from the rest only in being darker and of 
rather sharper outline. It must be a tree, she 
thought, but remembered no tree there; the 
garden held only low-growing shrubs. A post ? 
But the gate lay to the right, and this stood on 
her left hand, hard by the door of the house. 
What then? The terror came on her again, 
but she stood and looked, longing to find some 
explanation for it — some meaning on which her 
mind could rest, and, reassured, drive away its 
terrifying fancies. For the shape was large in 
the mist, and she could not tell what it might 
mean. Was it human? On her superstitious 
mood the thought flashed bright with sudden 
relief, and she cried beseechingly, 

“ Who is it ? Who’s there ? ” 

A human voice in answer would have been 
heaven to her, but no answer came. With a 
stifled cry, she shut the window down, and stood 
a moment, listening — eager, yet fearful, to hear. 
Hark! Yes, there was a sound! What was 
it ? It was a footstep on the gravel — a slow, 
uncertain, wavering, intermittent step, as though 
of someone groping with hesitating feet and 
doubtful resolution through the mist. She 
must know what it was — who it was — what it 
229 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


meant. She started up again, laying both hands 
on the window-sash. But then terror conquered 
curiosity; gasping as if breath failed her and 
something still pursued, she ran across the room 
and flung open the door. She must find some- 
one — Maggie or someone. 

On the threshold she paused in amazement. 
The door of Mrs. Dennison’s room was open, 
and Maggie stood in the doorway, holding a 
candle, behind which her face gleamed pale and 
her eyes shone. She was muffled in a long 
white wrapper, and her dark hair fell over her 
shoulders. The candle shook in her hand, but, 
on sight of Marjory, her lips smiled beneath her 
deep shining eyes. Marjory ran to her crying, 

44 Is it you, Maggie ? ” 

44 Who should it be ? ” asked Mrs. Dennison, 
still smiling, so well as her fast- beating breath 
allowed her. 4 4 Why aren’t you in bed ? ” 

The girl grasped her hand, and pushed her 
back into the room. 

44 Maggie, I — Hark ! there it is again ! There’s 
something outside — there, in the garden ! If you 
open the window — ” 

As she spoke, Mrs. Dennison darted quick on 
silent, naked feet to the window, and stood by 
it; but she seemed rather to intercept approach 
to it than to think of opening it. Indeed there 
was no need. The slow uncertain step sounded 
230 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


again ; there were five or six seeming footfalls, 
and the women stood motionless, listening to 
them. Then there was stillness outside, match- 
ing the hush within ; till Maggie Dennison, 
tearing the wrapper loose from her throat, said in 
low tones, 

“I hear nothing outside;” and she put the 
candle on the table by her. “You can see 
nothing for the fog,” she added as she gazed 
through the glass. Her tone was strangely full 
of relief. 

“I opened the window,” whispered Marjory, 
“ and I saw — I thought I saw — something. And 
then I heard — that. You heard it, Maggie?” 

The girl was standing in the middle of the 
room, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Dennison, who leant 
against the window-sash with a strained, alert, 
watchful look on her face. 

“ I heard you open the window and call out 
something,” she said. ‘ 4 That’s all I heard.” 

“ But just now — just now as we stood here ? ” 

Mrs. Dennison did not answer for a moment; 
her ear was almost against the panes, and her face 
was like a runner’s as he waits for the starter’s 
word. There was nothing but the gentle beat of 
the sea. Mrs. Dennison pushed her hair back 
over her shoulders and sighed ; her tense frame 
relaxed, and the fixed smile on her lips seemed, 
in broadening, to lose something of its rigidity. 

231 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“No, I didn’t, you silly child,” she said. 
“ You’re full of fancies, Marjory.” 

The curl of her lip and the shrug of her shoul- 
ders won no attention. 

44 It went across the garden from the door — 
across towards the gate,” said Marjory, “towards 
the path down. I heard it. It came from near 
the door. I heard it.” 

Mrs. Dennison shook her head. The girl 
sprang forward and again caught her by the 
arm. 

“ You heard too ? ” she cried. 4 4 1 know you 
heard ! ” and a challenge rang in her voice. 

Mrs. Dennison frowned as she shook her arm 
free. 

“I didn’t hear,” she repeated impatiently, 
44 but I daresay you did. Perhaps it was a man 
— a thief, or somebody lost in the fog. Would 
you like me to wake the footman ? I can tell 
him to take a lantern and look if anyone’s in 
the garden.” 

Marjory took no notice of the offer. 

44 But if it was anyone, he’ll have gone now, ” 
continued Maggie Dennison, 44 your opening the 
window will have frightened him. You made 
such a noise — you woke me up.” 

44 Were you asleep ? ” came in quick question. 

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Dennison steadily, 44 1 
was asleep. Couldn’t you sleep ? ” 

232 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


“ Sleep ? No, I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid.” 

“ You’re as bad as the children,” said Mrs. 
Dennison, laughing gently. “ Come, go back to 
bed. Shall I come and sit by you till it’s 
light ? ” 

The girl seemed not to hear ; she drew nearer, 
searching Mrs. Dennison’s face with suspicious 
eyes. Maggie could not face her ; she dropped 
her glance to the floor and laughed nervously and 
fretfully. Suddenly Marjory threw herself on 
the floor at her friend’s feet. 

“ Maggie, come away from here, ” she beseeched. 
“Do come ; do come away directly. Maggie, 
dear, I love you so, and — and I was unkind last 
night. Do come, darling! We’ll go back to- 
gether — back home,” and she burst into sobbing. 

Maggie Dennison stood passive and motion- 
less, her hands by her side. Her lips quivered 
and she looked down at the girl kneeling at her 
feet. 

“Won’t you come?” moaned Marjory. “ Oh, 
Maggie, there’s still time ! ” 

Mrs. Dennison knew what she meant. A 
strange smile came over her face. Yes, there 
was time ; in a sense there was time, for the un- 
certain footfalls had not reached their goal — 
arrested by that cry from the window, they had 
stopped — wavered — retreated — and were gone. 
Because a girl had not slept, there was time. Yet 
233 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


what difference did it make that there was still 
time — to-night? Since to-morrow was coming 
and must come. 

“ Time! ” she echoed in a whisper. 

“For Gods sake, come, Maggie! Come to- 
morrow — you and the children. Come back 
with them to England ! Maggie, I can’t stay 
here ! ” 

Mrs. Dennison put out her hands and took 
Marjory’s. 

“ Get up,” she said almost roughly, and 
dragged the girl to her feet. “You can go, 
Marjory; I — I suppose you’re not happy here. 
You can go.” 

“ And you ? ” 

“ I sha’n’t go,” said Maggie Dennison. 

Marjory, standing now, shrank back from her. 

“ You won’t go? ” she whispered. “ Why, 
what are you staying for ? ” 

“You forget,” said Mrs. Dennison coldly. 
“ I’m waiting for my husband.” 

“ Oh ! ” moaned Marjory, a world of misery 
and contempt in her voice. 

At the tone Mrs. Dennison’s face grew rigid, 
and, if it could be, paler than before ; she had 
been called “ liar to her face, and truly. It was 
lost to-night her madness mourned — hoped-for 
to-morrow that held her in the place. 

The fog was lifting outside; the darkness 
234 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


grew less dense; a distant, dim, cold light began 
to reveal the day. 

“ See, it’s morning,” said Mrs. Dennison. 44 You 
needn’t be afraid any longer. Won’t you go 
back to your own room, Marjory ? ” 

Marjory nodded. She wore a helpless, be- 
wildered look, and she did not speak. She started 
to cross the room, when Mrs. Dennison asked 
her, 

44 Do you mean to go this morning ? I sup- 
pose the Seminghams will take you, if you like. 
We can make some excuse if you like.” 

Marjory stood still, then she sank on a chair 
near her, and began to sob quietly. Mrs. Den- 
nison slowly walked to her, and stood by her. 
Then, gently and timidly, she laid her hand on 
the girl’s head. 

44 Don’t cry,” she said. “Why should you 
cry? ” 

Marjory clutched her hand, crying, 

44 Maggie, Maggie, don’t, don’t ! ” 

4 4 Mrs. Dennison’s eyes filled with tears. She 
let her hand lie passive till the girl released it, 
and, looking up, said, 

“ I’m not going, Maggie. I shall stay. Don’t 
send me away ! Let me stay till Mr. Dennison 
comes.” 

44 What’s the use ? You’re unhappy here.” 

44 Can’t I help you ? ” asked the girl, so low 
235 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


that it seemed as though she were afraid to hear 
her own voice. 

Mrs. Dennison’s self-control suddenly gave 
way. 

“ Help ! ” she cried recklessly. “ No, you can’t 
help. Nobody can help. It’s too late for any- 
one to help now.” 

The girl raised her head with a start. 

4 4 Too late ! Maggie, you mean — ? ” 

44 No, no, no,” cried Mrs. Dennison, and then 
her eager cry died swiftly away. 

Why protest in horror ? By no grace of hers 
was it that it was not too late. The girl’s eyes 
were on her, and she stammered, 

44 1 mean nothing — nothing. Yes, you must 
go. I hate — no, no ! Marjory, don’t push me 
away ! Let me touch you ! There’s no reason 
I shouldn’t touch you. I mean, I love you, but 
— I can’t have you here.” 

44 Why not?” came from the girl in slow, 
strong tones. 

A moment later, she sprang to her feet, her 
eyes full of new horror, as the vague suspicion 
grew to a strange undoubting certainty. 

44 Who was it in the garden ? Who was out 
there ? Maggie, if I hadn’t — ? ” 

She could not end. On the last words her 
voice sank to a fearful whisper; when she had 
uttered them — with their unfinished, yet plain 
236 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


and naked, question — she hid her face in her 
hands, listening for the answer. 

A minute — two minutes — passed. There was 
no sound but Maggie Dennison’s quick breath- 
ings ; once she started forward with her lips 
parted as if to speak, and a look of defiance on 
her face ; once too, entreaty, hope, tenderness 
dawned for a moment. In anger or in sorrow, 
the truth was hard on being uttered ; but the 
impulse failed. She arrested the words on her 
lips, and with an angry jerk of her head, said 
petulantly, 

44 Oh, you’re a silly girl, and you make me 
silly, too. There’s nothing the matter. I don’t 
know who it was or what it was. Very likely it 
was nothing. I heard nothing. It was all your 
imagination.” Her voice grew harder, colder, 
more restrained as she went on. 44 Don’t think 
about what I’ve said to-night — and don’t chatter 
about it. You upset me with your fancies. 
Marjory, it means nothing.” 

The last words were imperative in their insist- 
ence, but all the answer Marjory made was to 
raise her head and ask, 

44 Am I to go ? ” while her eyes added, too 
plainly for Maggie Dennison not to read them, 
44 You know the meaning of that.” 

Under the entreaty and the challenge of her 
eyes, Mrs. Dennison could not give the answer 
16 237 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


which it was her purpose to give — the answer 
which would deny the mad hope that still filled 
her, the hope which still cried that, though to- 
night was gone, there was to-morrow. It was 
the answer she must make to all the world — 
which she must declare and study to confirm in 
all her acts and bearing. But there — alone with 
the girl — under the compelling influence of the 
reluctant confidence — that impossibility of open 
falsehood — which the time and occasion seemed 
strangely to build up between them — she could 
not give it plainly. She dared not bid the girl 
stay, with that hope at her heart; she dared not 
cast away the cloak by bidding her go. 

“ You must do as you like,” she said at last. 
“ I can’t help you about it.” 

Marjory caught at the narrow chance the 
answer left her ; with returning tenderness, she 
stretched out her hands towards her friend, 
saying, 

“ Maggie, do tell me ! I shall believe what 
you tell me.” 

Mrs. Dennison drew back from the contact of 
the outstretched hands. Marjory rose, and for 
an instant they stood looking at one another. 
Then Marjory turned, and walked slowly to the 
door. To her own room she went, to fear and 
to hope, if hope she could. 

Mrs. Dennison was left alone. The night was 
238 


A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 


far gone, the morning coming apace. Her lips 
moved, as she gazed from the window. Was it 
in thanksgiving for the escape of the night, or 
in joy that the morrow was already to-day ? She 
could not tell ; yes, she was glad — surely she was 
glad ? Yet, as at last she flung herself upon her 
bed, she murmured, “ He’ll come early to-day, ” 
and then she sobbed in shame. 


239 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 

Willie Huston was half-dressed wdien the 
chamber-maid knocked at his door. He opened 
it and took from her three or four letters. Lay- 
ing them on the table he finished his dressing — 
with him a quick process, devoid of the pleasant 
lounging by which many men cheat its daily 
tiresomeness. At last, when his coat was on, he 
walked two or three times up and down the 
room, frowning, smiling for an instant, frowning 
long again. Then he jerked his head impatiently 
as though he had had too much of his thoughts, 
and, going to the table, looked at the addresses 
on his letters. With a sudden access of eager- 
ness he seized on one and tore it open. It bore 
Carlin’s handwriting, and he groaned to see that 
the four sides were close-filled. Old Carlin was 
terribly verbose and roundabout in his commu- 
nications, and a bored look settled on Willie 
Ruston’s face as he read a wilderness of small 
details, skirmishes with unruly clerks, iniquities 
of office-boys, lamentations on the apathy of the 
public, and lastly, a conscientious account of the 
24Q 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 

health of the writer’s household. With a sigh 
he turned the second page. 

“ By the way,” wrote Carlin, “ I have had a 
letter from Detchmore. He draws back about 
the railway, and says the Government won’t 
sanction it.” 

Willie Ruston raced through the rest, mutter- 
ing to himself as he read, “ Why the deuce didn’t 
he wire? What an old fool it is ! ” and so forth. 
Then he flung down the letter, put his hands 
deep in his pockets and stood motionless for a 
few moments. 

“ I must go at once,” he said aloud. 

He stood thinking, and a rare expression stole 
over his face. It showed a doubt, a hesitation, a 
faltering — the work and the mark of the day and 
the night that were gone. He walked about 
again; he went to the window and stared out, 
jangling the money in his pockets. For nearly 
five minutes that expression was on his face. 
For nearly five minutes — and it seemed no short 
time — he was torn by conflicting forces. For 
nearly five minutes he wavered in his allegiance, 
and Omofaga had a rival that could dispute its 
throne. Then his brow cleared and his lips shut 
tight again. He had made up his mind ; great 
as the thing was that held him where he was, yet 
he must go, and the thing must wait. Wheeling 
round, he took up the letter and, passing quickly 
241 


THE GOD IN THE CAE 


through the door, went to young Sir Walter’s 
room, with the face of a man who knows grief 
and vexation but has set wavering behind him. 

It was an hour later when Adela Ferrars and 
the Seminghams sat down to their coffee. A 
fourth place was laid at the table, and Adela 
was in very good spirits. Tom Loring had ar- 
rived ; they had greeted him, and he was up- 
stairs making himself fit to be seen after a night- 
voyage ; his boat had lain three hours outside 
the harbour waiting for the fog to lift. “ I dare- 
say,” said Tom, “ you heard our horn bellowing.” 
But he was here at last, and Adela was merrier 
than she had been in all her stay at Dieppe. 
Semingham also was happy ; it was a great re- 
lief to feel that there was someone to whom 
responsibility properly, or at least more properly, 
belonged, and an end, therefore, to all unjustifi- 
able attempts to saddle mere onlookers with it. 
And Lady Semingham perceived that her com- 
panions were in a more genial mood than lately 
had been their wont, and expanded in the 
warmer air. When Tom came down nothing 
could exceed the empressement of his welcome. 

The sun had scattered the last remnants of 
fog, and, on Semingham ’s proposal, the party 
passed from the table to a seat in the hotel gar- 
den, whence they could look at the sea. Here 
they became rather more silent ; for Adela be- 
242 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


gan to feel that the hour of explanation was ap- 
proaching, and grew surer and surer that to her 
would be left the task. She believed that Tom 
was tactful enough to spare her most of it, but 
something she must say — and to say anything 
was terribly difficult. Lord Semingham was 
treating the visit as though there were nothing 
behind ; and his wife had no inkling that there 
was anything behind. The wife’s genius for not 
observing was matched by the husband’s won- 
derful power of ignoring ; and if Adela had al- 
lowed herself to translate into words the exas- 
perated promptings of her quick temper, she 
would have declared a desire to box the ears of 
both of them. It would have been vulgar, but 
entirely satisfactory. 

At last Tom, with carefully prepared non- 
chalance, asked, 

64 Oh, and how is Mrs. Dennison ? ” 

Bessie Semingham assumed the question to 
herself. 

4 4 She’s very well, thank you, Mr. Loring. 
Dieppe has done her a world of good.” 

Adela pursed her lips together. Semingham, 
catching her eye, smothered a nascent smile. 
Tom frowned slightly, and, leaning forward, 
clasped his hands between his knees. He was 
guilty of wishing that Bessie Semingham had 
more pressing avocations that morning. 

243 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“You see,” she chirruped, “Marjory’s with 
her, and the children dote on Marjory, and she’s 
got Mr. Ruston and Walter to wait on her — 
you know Maggie always likes somebody in her 
train. Well, Alfred, why shouldn’t I say that? 
I like to have someone myself.” 

“ I didn’t speak,” protested Semingham. 

“ No, but you looked funny. I always say 
about Maggie, Mr. Loring, that — ” 

All three were listening in some embarrass- 
ment ; out of the mouths of babes come some- 
times alarming things. 

“ That without any apparent trouble she can 
make her clothes look better than anybody I 
know.” 

Lord Semingham laughed; even Adela and 
Tom smiled. 

“ What a blessed irrelevance you have, my 
dear, ” said Semingham, stroking his wife’s small 
hand. 

Lady Semingham smiled delightedly and 
blushed prettily. She enjoyed Alfred’s praise. 
He was so difficile as a rule. The exact point of 
the word “ irrelevance ” she did not stay to con- 
sider; she had evidently said something that 
pleased him. A moment later she rose with a 
smile, crying, 

“ Why, Mr. Ruston, how good of you to 
come round so early ! ” 


244 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


Willie Ruston shook hands with her in hasty 
politeness. A nod to Semingham, a lift of the 
hat to Adela, left him face to face with Tom 
Loring, who got up slowly. 

44 Ah, Loring, how are you?” said Willie, 
holding out his hand. “Young Val told me 
you were to arrive to-day. How did you get 
across? Uncommon foggy, wasn’t it? ” 

By this time he had taken Tom’s hand and 
shaken it, Tom being purely passive. 

44 By the way, you’re all wrong about the 
water, you know,” he continued, in sudden re- 
membrance. 44 There’s enough water to supply 
Manchester within ten miles of Fort Imperial. 
What? Why, man, I’ll show you the report 
when we get back to town ; good water, too. 
I had it analysed, and — well, it’s all right ; but 
I haven’t time to talk about it now. The fact 
is, Semingham, I came round to tell you that 
I’m off.” 

44 Off?” exclaimed Semingham, desperately 
fumbling for his eyeglass. 

Adela clasped her hands, and her eyes 
sparkled. Tom scrutinised Willie Ruston with 
attentive eyes. 

44 Yes; to-day — in an hour; boat goes at 
11.30. I’ve had a letter from old Carlin. 
Things aren’t going well. That ass Detch — 
By Jove, though, I forgot you, Loring ! I don’t 
245 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

want to give you materials for another of those 
articles.” 

His rapidity, his bustle, his good humour were 
all amazing. 

Tom glanced in bewilderment at Adela. 
Adela coloured deeply. She felt that she had 
no adequate reason to give for having summoned 
Tom Loring to Dieppe, unless (she brightened 
as the thought struck her) Tom had frightened 
Ruston away. 

Willie seized Semingham’s arm, and began to 
walk him (the activity seemed all on Willie’s 
part) quickly up and down the garden. He 
held Carlin’s letter in his hand, and he talked 
eagerly and fast, beating the letter with his fist 
now and again. Bessie Semingham sat down 
with an amiable smile. Adela and Tom were 
close together. Adela lifted her eyes to Tom’s 
in question. 

“ What ? ” he asked. 

“ Do you think it’s true? ” she whispered. 

“He’s the finest actor alive if it isn’t,” said 
Tom, watching the beats of Ruston’s fist. 

“ Then thank heaven ! But I feel so foolish.” 

“ Hush ! here they come,” said Tom. 

There was no time for more. 

“ Tom, there’s riches in it for you if we told 
you,” laughed Semingham ; “ but Ruston’s going 
to put it all right.” 


246 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


Tom gave a not very easy laugh. 

“ Fancy old Carlin not wiring !” exclaimed 
Willie Ruston. 

“ Shall I sell? ” asked Adela, trying to be 
frivolous. 

“Hold for your life, Miss Ferrars,” said 
Willie; and going up to Bessie Semingham he 
held out his hand. 

“What, are you really off? It’s too bad of 
you, Mr. Ruston! Not that I’ve seen much of 
you. Maggie has quite monopolised you.” 

Adela and Tom looked at the ground. Sem- 
ingham turned his back ; his smile would not be 
smothered. 

“ Of course you’re going to say good-bye to 
her ? ” pursued Lady Semingham. 

Tom looked up, and Adela followed his ex- 
ample. They were rewarded — if it were a re- 
ward — by seeing a slight frown — the first shadow 
since he had been with them — on Ruston’s brow. 
But he answered briskly, with a glance at his 
watch, 

“ I can’t manage it. I should miss the boat. 
I must write her a line.” 

“ Oh, she’ll never forgive you,” cried Lady 
Semingham. 

“ Oh, yes, she will,” he laughed. “ It’s for 
Omofaga, you know. Good-bye. Good-bye. 
I’m awfully sorry to go. Good-bye.” 

247 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


He was gone. It was difficult to realise 
at first. His presence, the fact of him, had 
filled so large a space ; it had been the feature 
of the place from the day he had joined 
them. It had been their interest and their 
incubus. 

For a moment the three stood staring at one 
another; then Semingham, with a curious laugh, 
turned on his heel and went into the house. His 
wife unfolded yesterday’s Morning Post and 
began to read. 

44 Come for a stroll,” said Tom Loring to 
Adela. 

She accompanied him in silence, and they 
walked a hundred yards or more before she 
spoke. 

44 What a blessing ! ” she said then. 4 4 1 won- 
der if your coming sent him away ? ” 

44 No; it was genuine,” declared Tom with con- 
viction. 

44 Then I was very wrong, or he’s a most ex- 
traordinary man. I can’t talk to you about 
it, Mr. Loring, but you told me I might send. 
And I did think it — desirable — when I wrote. 
I did, indeed. I hope you’re not very much 
annoyed ? ” 

44 Annoyed ! No ; I was delighted to come. 
And I am still more delighted that it looks as if 
I wasn’t wanted.” 


248 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


“ Oh, you’re wanted, anyhow,” said Adela. 

She was very happy in his coming, and could 
not help showing it a little. Fortunately, it was 
tolerably certain (as she felt sometimes, intoler- 
ably certain) that Tom Loring would not notice 
anything. He never seemed to consider it pos- 
sible that people might be particularly glad to 
see him. 

44 And you can stay, can’t you ? ” she added. 

“ Oh, yes ; I can stay a bit. I should like to. 
What made you send ? ” 

44 You know. I can’t possibly describe it.” 

44 Did Semingham notice it too ? ” 

44 Yes, he did, Mr. Loring. I distrust that 
man — Mr. Ruston, I mean — utterly. And 
Maggie — ” 

44 She’s wrapped up in him ? ” 

44 Terribly. I tried to think it was his 
wretched Omofaga; but it’s not; it’s him. 

44 Well, he’s disposed of.” 

44 Yes, indeed,” she sighed, in complacent ig- 
norance. 

44 1 must go and see her, you know,” said Tom, 
wrinkling his brow. 

Adela laughed. 

44 What’ll she say to me ? ” asked Tom, 
anxiously. 

44 Oh, she’ll be very pleasant.” 

44 1 shan’t,” said Tom, with sudden decision. 

249 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Adela looked at him curiously. 

44 You mean to — to give her 4 a bit of your 
mind ’ ? ” 

“Well, yes,” he answered, smiling, 44 1 think 
so ; don’t you ? ” 

44 I should like to, if I dared. ” 

44 Why, you dare anything ! ” exclaimed Tom. 

44 Oh, no, I don’t. I splash about a good deal, 
but I am a coward, really.” 

They relapsed into silence. Presently Tom 
began, 

44 It’s been awfully dull in town ; nobody to 
speak to, except Mrs. Cormack.” 

“Mrs. Cormack!” cried Adela. 44 1 thought 
you hated her ? ” 

44 Well, I’ve thought a little better of her 
lately.” 

44 To think of you making friends with Mrs. 
Cormack !” 

44 1 haven’t made friends with her. She’s not 
such a bad woman as you’d think, though.” 

44 1 think she’s horrible,” said Adela. 

Tom gave it up. 

44 There was no one else,” he pleaded. 

44 Well,” retorted Adela, 44 when there is any- 
one else, you never come near them.” 

The grammar was confused, but Adela could 
not improve it without being landed in unbear- 
able plainness of speech. 

250 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


“ Don’t I ? ” he asked. “ Why, I come and 
see you.” 

“ Oh, for twenty minutes once a month ; just 
to keep the acquaintance open, I suppose. It’s 
like shutting all the gates on Ascension Day 
(isn’t it Ascension Day?), only the other way 
round, you know.” 

“ You so often quarrel with me,” said Tom. 

“ What nonsense!” said Adela. “ Anyhow, I 
won’t quarrel here.” 

Tom glanced at her. She was looking bright 
and happy and young. He liked her even 
better here in Dieppe than in a London drawing- 
room. Her conversation was not so elaborate, 
but it was more spontaneous and, to his mind, 
pleasanter. Moreover, the sea air had put col- 
our in her cheeks and painted her complexion 
afresh. The thought strayed through Tom’s 
mind that she was looking quite handsome. 
It was the one good thing that he did not 
always think about her. He went on study- 
ing her till she suddenly turned and caught 
him. 

“ Well,” she asked with a laugh and a blush, 
“ do I wear well ? ” 

“You always talk as if you were seventy,” 
said Tom reprovingly. 

Adela laughed merrily. The going of Ruston 
and the coming of Tom were almost too much 
251 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


good-fortune for one day. And Tom had come 
in a pleasant mood. 

“You don’t really like Mrs. Cormack, do 
you ? ” she asked. “ She hates me, you know.” 

“ Oh, if I have to choose between you — ” said 
Tom, and stopped. 

“ You stop at the critical moment.” 

“Well, Mrs. Cormack isn’t here,” said 
Tom. 

“ So I shall do to pass the time?” 

“ Yes,” he laughed ; and then they both 
laughed. 

But suddenly Adela’s laugh ceased, and she 
jumped up. 

“ There’s Marjory Valentine ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ What ! Where ? ” asked Tom, rising. 

“No, stay where you are, I want to speak to 
her. I’ll come back,” and, leaving Tom, she 
sped after Marjory, calling her name. 

Marjory looked round and hastened to meet 
her. She was pale and her eyes heavy for trou- 
ble and want of sleep. 

“ Oh, Adela, I’m so glad to find you. I was 
going to look for you at the hotel. I must talk 
to you.” 

“ You shall,” said Adela, taking her arm and 
smiling again. 

She did not notice Marjory’s looks; she was 
full of her own tidings. 

252 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


“ I want to ask you whether you think Lady 
Semingham — ” began Marjory, growing red, and 
in great embarrassment. 

“ Oh, but hear my news first,” cried Adela; 
“ Marjory, he’s gone ! ” 

“ Who?” 

“ Why, that man — Mr. Ruston.” 

“ Gone ! ” echoed Marjory in amazement. 

To her it seemed incredible that he should be 
gone — strange perhaps to Adela, but to her in- 
credible. 

“ Yes, this morning. He got a letter — some- 
thing about his Company — and he was off on 
the spot. And Tom — Mr. Loring (he’s come, 
you know) thinks — that that really was his rea- 
son, you know.” 

Marjory listened with wide-open eyes. 

“ Oh, Adela ! ” she said at last with a sort of 
shudder. 

She could have believed it of no other man ; 
she could hardly believe it of one who now 
seemed to her hardly a man. 

“ Isn’t it splendid ? And he went off without 
seeing — without going up to the cliff at all. I 
never was so delighted in my life.” 

Marjory was silent. No delight showed on 
her face ; the time for that was gone. She did 
not understand, and she was thinking of the 
night’s experience and wondering if Maggie 
17 253 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Dennison had known that he was going. No, 
she could not have known. 

44 But what did you want with me, or with 
Bessie ? ” asked Adela. 

Marjory hesitated. The departure of Willie 
Ruston made a difference. She prayed that it 
meant an utter difference. There was a chance ; 
and while there was a chance her place was in 
the villa on the cliff. His going rekindled the 
spark of hope that almost had died in the last 
terrible night. 

44 1 think,” she said slowly, 44 that I’ll go straight 
back.” 

44 And tell Maggie?” asked Adela with ex- 
cited eyes. 

44 If she doesn’t know.” 

Adela said nothing ; the subject was too 
perilous. She even regretted having said so 
much ; but she pressed her friend’s arm ap- 
provingly. 

44 It doesn’t matter about Lady Semingham 
just now,” said Marjory in an absent sort of 
tone. 44 It will do later. ’ ’ 

44 You’re not looking well,” remarked Adela, 
who had at last looked at her. 

44 1 had a bad night.” 

44 And how’s Maggie ? ” 

The girl paused a moment. 

44 1 haven’t seen her this morning. She sent 
254 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 


word that she would breakfast in bed. I’ll just 
run up now, Adela.” 

She walked off rapidly. Adela watched her, 
feeling uneasy about her. There was a strange 
constraint about her manner — a hint of some- 
thing suppressed — and it was easy to see that 
she was nervous and unhappy. But Adela, 
making lighter of her old fears in her new- won 
comfort, saw only in Marjory a grief that is very 
sad to bear, a sorrow that comes where love — or 
what is nearly love — meets with indifference. 

“ She’s still thinking about that creature ! ” 
said Adela to herself in scorn and in pity. She 
had quite made up her mind about Willie 
Ruston now. “ I’m awfully sorry for her.” 
Adela, in fact, felt very sympathetic. For the 
same thing might well happen with love that 
rested on a worthier object than “ that creature, 
Willie Ruston!” 

Meanwhile the creature — could he himself at 
the moment have quarrelled with the word ? — 
was carried over the waves, till the cliff and the 
house on it dipped and died away. The excite- 
ment of the message and the start was over ; the 
duty that had been strong enough to take him 
away could not yet be done. A space lay bare 
— exposed to the thoughts that fastened on it. 
Who could have escaped their assault? Not 
even Willie Ruston was proof; and his fellow- 
255 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


v°y a g ers wondered at the man with the frown- 
ing brows and fretful, restless eyes. It had not 
been easy to do, or pleasant to see done, this 
last sacrifice to the god of his life. Yet it had 
been done, with hardly a hesitation. He paced 
the deck, saying to himself, “ She’ll understand.” 
Would any woman ? If any, then, without 
doubt, she was the woman. “ Oh, she’ll under- 
stand,” he muttered petulantly, angry with him- 
self because he would not be convinced. Once, 
in despair, he tried to tell himself that this end 
to it was what people would call ordered for the 
best — that it was an escape for him — still more 
for her. But his strong, self-penetrating sense 
pushed the plea aside — in him it was hypocrisy, 
the merest conventionality. He had not even 
the half-stifled thanksgiving for respite from a 
doom still longed for, which had struggled for 
utterance in Maggie’s sobs. Yet he had some- 
thing that might pass for it — a feeling that made 
even him start in the knowledge of its degrada- 
tion. By faith, or accident, or mischance — call 
it what he might — there was nothing irrevocable 
yet. He could draw back still. Not thanks- 
giving for sin averted, but a shamefaced sense 
of an enforced safety made its way into his mind 
— till it was thrust aside by anger at the check 
that had baffled him, and by the longing that 
was still upon him. 


256 


ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 

Well, anyhow — for good or evil — willing or 
unwilling — he was away. And she was alone 
in the little house on the cliff. His face 
softened; he ceased to think of himself for a 
moment; he thought of her, as she would look 
when he did not come — when he was false to a 
tryst never made in words, but surely the 
strongest that had ever bound a man. He 
clenched his fists as he stood looking from the 
stern of the boat, muttering again his old plea, 
“ She’ll understand ! ” 

Was there not the railway? 


257 


CHAPTER XIX 


PAST PRAYING FOR 

Mrs. Dennison needed not Marjory to tell her. 
She had received Willie Huston’s note just as 
she was about to leave her bedroom. It was 
scribbled in pencil on half a sheet of notepaper. 

“ Am called back to England — something 
wrong about our railway. Very sorry I can’t 
come and say good-bye. I shall run back if I 
can, but I’m afraid I may be kept in England. 
Will you write? W. R. R.” 

She read it, and stood as if changed to stone. 
“ Something wrong about our railway ! ” Surely 
an all-sufficient reason ; the writer had no doubt 
of that. He might be kept in England; that 
meant he would be, and the writer seemed to 
see nothing strange in the fact that he could be. 
She did not doubt the truth of what the note 
said. A man lying would have piled Pelion on 
Ossa, reason on reason, excuse on excuse, pro- 
testation on protestation. Besides Willie Rus- 
ton did not lie. It was just the truth, the all- 
sufficient truth. There was something wrong 
with the railway, so he left her. He would lose 
258 


PAST PRAYING FOR 


a day if he missed the boat, so he left her with- 
out a word of farewell. The railway must not 
suffer for his taking holiday; her suffering was 
all his holiday should make. 

Slowly she tore the note into the smallest of 
fragments, and the fragments fell at her feet. 
And his passionate words were still in her ears, 
his kisses still burnt on her cheek. This was 
the man whom to sway had been her darling 
ambition, whom to love was her great sin, whom 
to know, as in this moment she seemed to know 
him, her bitter punishment. In her heart she 
cried to heaven, “ Enough, enough ! ” 

The note was his — his to its last line, its last 
word, its last silence. The man stood there 
self-epitomised ; callous and careless, unmerciful, 
unbending, unturning ; vowed to his quest, 
recking of naught else. But — she clung to this, 
the last plank in her shipwreck — great — one of 
the few for whom the general must make step- 
ping-stones. She thought she had been one of 
the few ; that torn note told her error. Still, 
she had held out her hands to ruin for no com- 
mon clay’s sake. But it was too hard too 
hard — too hard. 

“ Will you write?” Was he tender there? 
Her bitterness would not grant him even that. 
He did not want her to slip away. The smallest 
addition will make the greatest realm greater, 
259 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


and its loss sully the king’s majesty. So she 
must write, as she must think and dream — and 
remember. 

Perhaps he might choose to come again — 
some day — and she was to be ready ! 

She went downstairs. In the hall she met 
her children, and they said something to her ; 
they talked and chatted to her, and, with the 
surface of her mind, she understood ; and she 
listened and answered and smiled. And all that 
they had said and she had said went away ; and 
she found them gone, and herself alone. Then 
she passed to the sitting-room, where was Mar- 
jory Valentine, breathless from mounting the 
path too quickly; and at sight of Marjory’s 
face, she said, 

“ I’ve heard from Mr. Ruston. He has been 
called away,” forestalling Marjory’s trembling 
words. 

Then she sat down, and there was a long 
silence. She was conscious of Marjory there, 
but the girl did not speak, and presently the 
impression of her, which was very faint, faded 
altogether away, and Maggie Dennison seemed 
to herself alone again— thinking, dreaming, and 
remembering, as she must now think, dream, 
and remember — remembering the day that was 
gone, thinking of what this day should have 
been. 


260 


PAST PRAYING FOR 


She sat for an hour, still and idle, looking 
out across the sea, and Marjory sat motionless 
behind, gazing at her with despair in her eyes. 
At last the girl could bear it no longer. It was 
unnatural, unearthly, to sit there like that; it 
was as though, by an impossibility, a dead soul 
were clothed with a living, breathing body. 
Marjory rose and came close, and called, 

“ Maggie, Maggie! ” 

Her voice was clear and louder than her or- 
dinary tones, she spoke as if trying to force 
someone to hear. 

Maggie Dennison started, looked round, and 
passed her hand rapidly across her brow. 

“ Maggie, I — I’ve not done anything about 
going.” 

“ Going? ” echoed Maggie Dennison. But 
her mind was clearing now ; her brain had been 
stunned, not killed, and her will drove it to 
wakefulness and work again. “ Going? Oh, I 
hope not.” 

“ You know, last night — ” began Marjory, 
timidly, flushing, keeping behind Mrs. Denni- 
son’s chair. “ Last night we — we talked about 
it, but I thought perhaps now — ” 

“Oh,” interrupted Mrs. Dennison, “never 
mind last night. For goodness’ sake, forget 
last night. I think we were both mad last 
night.” 


261 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Marjory made no answer ; and Mrs. Denni- 
son, her hand having swept her brow once again, 
turned to her with awakened and alert eyes. 

“ You upset me — and then I upset you. And 
we both behaved like hysterical creatures. If I 
told you to go, I was silly; and if you said you 
wanted to go, you were silly too, Marjory. Of 
course, you must stop ; and do forget that — non- 
sense — last night.” 

Her tone was eager and petulant, the colour 
was returning to her cheeks; she looked alive 
again. 

Marjory leant an arm on the back of the chair, 
looking down into Maggie Dennison’s face. 

“ I will stay,” she said softly, ignoring every- 
thing else, and then she swiftly stooped and 
kissed Maggie’s cheek. 

Mrs. Dennison shivered and smiled, and, de- 
taining the girl’s head, most graciously returned 
her caress. Mrs. Dennison was forgiving every- 
thing; by forgiveness it might be that she could 
buy of Marjory forgetfulness. 

There was a ring at the door. Marjory looked 
through the window. 

“It’s Mr. Loring,” she said in a whisper. 

Maggie Dennison smiled — graciously again. 

“ It’s very kind of him to come so soon, ” said 
she. 

“ Shall I go ? ” 


262 


PAST PRAYING FOR 


“ Go ? No, child — unless you want to. You 
know him too. And we’ve no secrets, Tom 
Loring and I.” 

Tom Loring had mounted the hill very slowly. 
The giving of that “ piece of his mind ” seemed 
not altogether easy. He might paint poor 
Harry’s forlorn state ; Mrs. Dennison would be 
politely concerned and politely sceptical about it. 
He might tell her again — as he had told her be- 
fore — that Willie Ruston was a knave and a vil- 
lain, and she might laugh or be angry, as her 
mood was; but she would not believe. Or he 
might upbraid her for folly or for worse; and 
this was what he wished to do. Would she lis- 
ten ? Probably — with a smile on her lips and 
mocking little compliments on his friendly zeal 
and fatherly anxiety. Or she might flash out on 
him, and call his charge an insult, and drive him 
away ; and a word from her would turn poor old 
Harry into his enemy. Decidedly his task was 
no easy one. 

It was a coward’s joy that he felt when he 
found a third person there ; but he felt it from 
the bottom of his heart. Divine delay! Gra- 
cious impossibility! How often men adore 
them ! Tom Loring gave thanks, praying si- 
lently that Marjory would not withdraw, shook 
hands as though his were the most ordinary 
morning call, and began to discuss the scenery 
263 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


of Dieppe, and — as became a newcomer — the 
incidents of his voyage. 

“ And while you were all peacefully in your 
beds, we w^ere groping about outside in that 
abominable fog,” said he. 

“ How you must have envied us ! ” smiled Mrs. 
Dennison, and Marjory found herself smiling in 
emulous hypocrisy. But her smile was very un- 
successful, and it was well that Tom Loring’s 
eyes were on his hostess. 

Then Mrs. Dennison began to talk about Wil- 
lie Ruston and her own great interest in him, 
and in the Omofaga Company. She was very 
good-humoured to Tom Loring, but she did not 
fail to remind him how unreasonable he had 
been — was still, wasn’t he? The perfection of 
her manner frightened Marjory and repelled her. 
Yet it would have seemed an effort of bravery, 
had it been done with visible struggling. But it 
betrayed no effort, and therefore made no show 
of bravery. 

“So now,” said Maggie Dennison, “since I 
haven’t got Mr. Ruston to exchange sympathy 
with, I must exchange hostilities with you. It 
will still be about Omofaga — that’s one thing.” 

Tom had definitely decided to put off his lect- 
ure. The old manner he had known and mocked 
and admired — the “ these- are-the- orders ” man- 
ner — was too strong for him. He believed he 
264 


PAST PRAYING FOR 


was still fond of her. He knew that he won- 
dered at her still. Could it be true what they 
told him — that she was as a child in the hands 
of Willie Ruston ? He hated to think that, be- 
cause it must mean that Willie Ruston was — 
well, not quite an ordinary person — a conclusion 
Tom loathed to accept. 

“And you’re going to stay some time with 
the Seminghams ? That’ll be very pleasant. 
And Adela will like to have you so much. Oh, 
you can convert her! She’s a shareholder. 
And you must have a talk to the old Baron. 
You’ve heard of him? But then he believes in 
Mr. Ruston, as I do, so you’ll quarrel with him.” 

“ Perhaps I shall convert him,” suggested Tom. 

“ Oh, no, we thorough believers are past pray- 
ing for ; aren’t we, Marjory ? ” 

Marjory started. 

“ Past praying for ? ” she echoed. 

Her thoughts had strayed from the conver- 
sation — back to what she had been bidden to for- 
get ; and she spoke not as one who speaks a triv- 
ial phrase. 

For an instant a gleam of something — anger or 
fright — shot from Maggie Dennison’s eyes. The 
next, she was playfully, distantly, delicately chaff- 
ing Tom about the meaning of his sudden arrival. 

“ Of course not — ” she began. 

And Tom, interrupting, stopped the “ Adela.” 

265 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ And you stay here too ? ” he asked, to turn 
the conversation. 

‘‘Why, of course,” smiled Mrs. Dennison. 
“ After being here all this time, it would look 
rather funny if I ran away just when Harry’s 
coming. I think he really would have a right to 
be aggrieved then.” She paused, and added more 
seriously, “ Oh, yes, I shall wait here for Harry.” 

Then Tom Loring rose and took his leave. 
Mrs. Dennison entrusted him with an invitation 
to the whole of the Seminghams’ party to lunch- 
eon next day (“ If they don’t mind squeezing into 
our little room,” she gaily added), and walked 
with him to the top of the path, waving her hand 
to him in friendly farewell as he began to descend. 
And, after he was gone, she stood for a while 
looking out to sea. Then she turned. Marjory 
was in the window and saw her face as she turned. 
In a moment Maggie Dennison saw her looking, 
and smiled brightly. But the one short instant 
had been enough. The feelings first numbed, 
then smothered, had in that second sprung to 
life, and Marjory shrank back with a little in- 
articulate cry of pain and horror. Almost as she 
uttered it, Mrs. Dennison was by her side. 

“We’ll go out this afternoon,” she said. “I 
think I shall lie down for an hour. We managed 
to rob ourselves of a good deal of sleep last night. 
You’d better do the same.” She paused, and 
266 


PAST PRAYING FOR 


then she added, “You’re a good child, Marjory. 
You’re very kind to me.” 

There was a quiver in her voice, but it was 
only that, and it was Marjory, not she, who 
burst into sobs. 

“Hush, hush,” whispered Maggie Dennison. 
“ Hush, dear. Don’t do that. Why should you 
do that ? ” and she stroked the girl’s hot cheek, 
wet with tears. “ I’m very tired, Marjory,” she 
went on. “ Do you think you can dry your eyes 
— your silly eyes — and help me upstairs ? I — I 
can hardly stand,” and, as she spoke, she swayed 
and caught at the curtain by her, and held her- 
self up by it. “No, I can go alone ! ” she ex- 
claimed almost fiercely. “ Leave me alone, Mar- 
jory, I can walk. I can walk perfectly ; ” and 
she walked steadily across the room, and Marjory 
heard her unwavering step mounting the stairs 
to her bedroom. 

But Marjory did not see her enter her room, 
stop for a moment over the scraps of torn paper, 
still lying on the floor, stoop and gather them 
one by one, then put them in an envelope, and 
the envelope in her purse, and then throw herself 
on the bed in an agony of dumb pain, with the 
look on her face that had come for a moment in 
the garden and came now, fearless of being driven 
away, lined strong and deep, as though graven 
with some sharp tool. 


267 


CHAPTER XX 


THE BARON’S CONTRIBUTION 

It may be that the Baron thought he had sucked 
the orange of life very dry — at least, when the 
cold winds and the fog had done their work, he 
accepted without passionate disinclination the 
hint that he must soon take his lips from the 
fruit. He went to bed and made a codicil to his 
will, having it executed and witnessed with every 
requisite formality. Then he announced to Lord 
Semingham, who came to see him, that, ac- 
cording to his doctor’s opinion and his own, he 
might manage to breathe a week longer; and 
Semingham, looking upon him, fancied, without 
saying, that the opinion was a sanguine one. 
This happened five days before Harry Dennison’s 
arrival at Dieppe. 

“ I am very fortunate,” said the Baron, “ to 
have found such kind friends for the last stage ; ” 
and he looked from Lady Semingham’s flowers 
to Adela’s grapes. “ I could have bought them, 
of course,” he added. “ I’ve always been able to 
buy — everything. ” 

The old man smiled as he spoke, and Seming- 
ham smiled also. 


268 


THE BARONS CONTRIBUTION 


“ This,” continued the Baron, “is the third 
time I have been laid up like this.” 

“There’s luck in odd numbers,” observed 
Semingham. 

“But which would be luck?” asked the 
Baron. 

“Ah, there you gravel me,” admitted Sem- 
ingham. 

4 4 1 came here against orders, because I must 
needs poke my old nose into this concern of 
yours — ” 

44 Not of mine.” 

“Of yours and others’? Well, I poked it in 
— and the frost has caught the end of it.” 

“ I don’t take any particular pleasure in the 
concern myself,” said Semingham, “ and I wish 
you’d kept your nose out, and yourself in a more 
balmy climate.” 

c 4 My dear Lord, the market is rising. ’ ’ 

“ I know,” smiled Semingham. 44 Tom Lor- 
ing can’t make out who the fools are who are 
buying. He said so this morning.” 

The Baron began to laugh, but a cough 
choked his mirth. 

44 He’s a honest and an able man, your Loring ; 
but he doesn’t see clear in everything. I’ve been 
buying, myself.” 

44 Oh, you have ? ” 

44 Yes, and someone has been selling — selling 
18 269 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


largely — or the price would have been driven 
higher. It is you, perhaps, my friend ? ” 

“ Not a share. I have the vices of an aristoc- 
racy. I am stubborn.” 

“ Who, then ? ” 

“ It might be — Dennison.” 

The Baron nodded. 

“But what did you want with ’em, Baron? 
Will they pay ? ” 

“ Oh, I doubt that. But I wanted them. 
Why should Dennison sell ? ” 

“ I suppose he doubts, like you.” 

“ Perhaps it is that.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Semingham. 

In the course of the next three days they had 
many conversations ; the talks did the Baron no 
good nor, as his doctor significantly said, any 
harm ; and when he could not talk, Semingham 
sat by him and told stories. He spoke too, fre- 
quently, of AVillie Ruston, and of the Company 
— that interested the Baron. And at last, on 
the third day, they began to speak of Maggie 
Dennison; but neither of them connected the 
two names in talk. Indeed Semingham, ac- 
cording to his custom, had rushed at the possi- 
bility of ignoring such connection. Ruston’s 
disappearance had shown him a way ; and he 
embraced the happy chance. He was always 
ready to think that any “fuss” was a mistake; 

270 


THE BARONS CONTRIBUTION 


and, as he told the Baron, Mrs. Dennison had 
been in great spirits lately, cheered up, it seemed, 
by the prospect of her husband’s immediate ar- 
rival. The Baron smiled to hear him ; then he 
asked, 

“ Do you think she would come to see me ? ” 

Semingham promised to ask her; and, al- 
though the Baron was fit to see nobody the 
next day — for he had moved swiftly towards his 
journey’s end in those twenty-four hours — yet 
Mrs. Dennison came and was admitted ; and, at 
sight of the Baron, who lay yellow and gasping, 
forgot both her acting and, for an instant, the 
reality which it hid. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried before she could stop herself, 
“ how ill you look ! Let me make you com- 
fortable ! ” 

The Baron did not deny her. He had some- 
thing to say to her. 

“ When does your husband come ? ” he asked. 

“ To-morrow,” said she briefly. 

She did all she could for his comfort, and then 
sat down by his bedside. He had an interval of 
some freedom from oppression and his mind was 
clear and concentrated. 

“ I want to tell you,” he began, “ something 
that I have done.” He paused, and added a 
question, “ Ruston does not come back to 
Dieppe, I suppose ? ” 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ I think not. He is detained on business,’’ 
she answered, 4 ‘and he will be more tied when 
my husband leaves.” 

“Your husband will not long be concerned in 
the Omofaga,” said he. 

She started ; the Baron told her what he had 
told Semingham. 

“ He will soon resign his place on the Board, 
you will see,” he ended. 

She sat silent. 

“He will have nothing more to do with it, 
you will see ; ” and, turning to her, he asked 
with a sudden spurt of vigour, “ Do you know 
why ? ” 

“ How should I ? ” she answered steadily. 

“ And I — I have done my part too. I have 
left him some money ” (she knew that the Baron 
did not mean her husband) “ and all the shares I 
held.” 

“ You’ve done that ? ” she cried, with a sudden 
light in her eyes. 

“ Yes. You do not want to know why ? ” 

“Oh, I know you admired him. You told 
me so.” 

“Yes, that in part. I did admire him. He 
was what I have never been. I wish he was 
here now. I should like to look at that face 
of his before I die. But it was not for his sake 
that I left him the money. Why, he could get 
272 


THE BARONS CONTRIBUTION 


it without me if he needed it ! You don’t ask 
me why ? ” 

In his excitement he had painfully pulled 
himself higher up on his pillows, and his head 
was on a level with hers now. He looked right 
into her eyes. She was very pale, but calm and 
self-controlled. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why have 
you ? ” 

“ It will make him independent of your hus- 
band,” said the Baron. 

Mrs. Dennison dropped her eyes and raised 
them again in a swift, questioning glance. 

“ Yes, and of you. He need not look to you 
now.” 

He paused and added, slowly, punctuating 
every word, 

“ You w r ill not be necessary to him now.” 

Mrs. Dennison met his glance full and straight ; 
the Baron stretched out his hand. 

“ Ah, forgive me ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ There’s nothing to forgive,” said she. 

“ I saw ; I knew ; I have felt it. Now he will 
go away ; he will not lean on you now. I have 
set him where he can stand alone.” 

A smile, half-scornful and half-sad, came on 
her face. 

“You hate me,” said the Baron. “ But I am 
right.” 


273 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ I was — we were never necessary to him,” 
said she. “ Ah, Baron, this is no news you give 
me. I know him better than that.” 

He raised himself higher still, panting as he 
rested on his elbow. His head craned forward 
towards her as he whispered, 

“ I’m a dying man. You can tell me.” 

“If you were a dead man — ” she burst out 
passionately. Then she suddenly recovered her- 
self. “My dear Baron,” she went on, “I’m 
very glad you’ve done this for Mr. Ruston.” 

He sank down on his pillows with a weary 
sigh. 

“ Let him alone, let him alone,” he moaned. 
“You thought yourself strong.” 

“ I suppose you mean kindly,” she said, speak- 
ing very coldly. “ Indeed, that you should 
think of me at all just now shows it. But, 
Baron, you are disquieting yourself without 
cause.” 

“I’m an old man, and a sick man,” he 
pleaded, “and you, my dear — ” 

“Ah, suppose I have been — whatever you 
like — indiscreet ? W ell — ? ” 

She paused, for he made a feebly impatient 
gesture. Mrs. Dennison kept silence for a mo- 
ment; then in a low tone she said, 

“ Baron, why do you speak to a woman about 
such things, unless you want her to lie to you ? ” 
274 


THE BARONS CONTRIBUTION 


The Baron, after a moment, gave his answer, 
that was no answer. 

“ He is gone,” he said. 

“ Yes, he is gone — to look after his railway.” 

“ It is finished then ? ” he half asked, half im- 
plored, and just caught her low- toned reply. 

“ Finished ? Who for ? ” Then she suddenly 
raised her voice crying, “What is it to you? 
Why can’t I be let alone? How dare you make 
me talk about it? ” 

“ I have done,” said he, and, laying his thin, 
yellow hand in hers, he went on, “ If you meet 
him again — and I think you will — tell him that 
I longed to see him, as a man that is dying 
longs for his son. He would be a breath of life 
to me in this room, where everything seems 
dead. He is full of life — full as a tiger. And 
you can tell him — ” He stopped a moment and 
smiled. “ You can tell him why I was a buyer 
of Omofagas. What will he say ? ” 

“ What will he say ? ” she echoed, with wide- 
opened eyes, that watched the old man’s slow- 
moving lips. 

“ Will he weep ? ” asked the Baron. 

“ In God’s name, don’t ! ” she stammered. 

“He will say, 4 Behold, the Baron von Gelt- 
schmidt was a good man — he was of use in the 
world — may he sleep in peace. And now — how 
goes the railway ? ’ ” 


275 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


The old man lay silent, with a grim smile on 
his face. The woman sat by, with lips set tight 
in an agony of repression. At last she spoke. 

“ If I’d known you were going to tell me this, 
I wouldn’t have come.” 

“ It’s hard, hard, hard, but — ” 

“ Oh, not that. But — I knew it.” 

She rose to her feet. 

“Good-bye,” said the Baron. “I shan’t see 
you again. God make it light for you, my dear.” 

She would not seem to hear him. She 
smoothed his pillows and his scanty straggling 
hair; then she kissed his forehead. 

“Good-bye,” she said. “I will tell Willie 
when I see him. I shall see him soon.” 

The old man moaned softly and miserably. 

“ It would be better if you lay here,” he said. 

“ Yes, I suppose so,” she answered, almost 
listlessly. “Good-bye.” 

Suddenly he detained her, catching her hand. 

“ Do you believe in people meeting again 
anywhere ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, I suppose so. No, I don’t know, I’m 
sure.” 

“ They’ve been telling me to have a priest. I 
call myself a Catholic, you know. What can I 
say to a priest? I have done nothing but make 
money. If that is a sin, it’s too simple to need 
confession, and I’ve done too much of it for 
276 


THE BARON S CONTRIBUTION 


absolution. How can I talk to a priest? I 
shall have no priest.” 

She did not speak, but let him hold her hand. 

“ If,” he went on, with a little smile, “ I’m 
asked anywhere what I’ve done, I must say, 
‘ I’ve made money.’ That’s all I shall have to 
say.” 

She stooped low over him and whispered, 

“You can say one more thing, Baron — one 
little thing. You once tried to save a woman,” 
and she kissed him again and was gone. 

Outside the house, she found Semingham 
waiting for her. 

“ Oh, I say, Mrs. Dennison,” he cried, 
“ Harry’s come. He got away a day earlier 
than he expected. I met him driving up 
towards your house.” 

For just a moment she stood aghast. It 
came upon her with a shock ; between a respite 
of a day and the actual terrible now, there had 
seemed a gulf. 

“ Is he there — at the house — now ? ” she asked. 

Semingham nodded. 

“ Will you walk up with me ? ” she asked 
eagerly. “ I must go directly, you know. He’ll 
be so sorry not to find me there. Do you mind 
coming ? I’m tired.” 

He offered his arm, and she almost clutched 
at it, but she walked with nervous quickness. 

277 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ He’s looking very well,” said Semingham. 
“ A bit fagged, and so on, you know, of course, 
but he’ll soon get all right here.” 

“Yes, yes, very soon,” she replied absently, 
quickening her pace till he had to force his to 
match it. But, half-way up the hill, she stopped 
suddenly, breathing rapidly. 

“Yes, take a rest, we’ve been bucketing,” 
said he. 

“ Did he ask after me ? ” 

“ Yes ; directly.” 

“ And you said — ? ” 

“ Oh, that you were all right, Mrs. Dennison.” 

“ Thanks. Has he seen Mr. Loring ? ” 

“ No ; but he knew he had come here. He 
told me so.” 

“ W ell, I needn’t take you right up, need I ? ” 

Semingham thought of some jest about not 
intruding on the sacred scene, but the jest did 
not come. Somehow he shrank from it. Mrs. 
Dennison did not. 

“We shall want to fall on one another’s 
necks,” said she, smiling. “ And you’d feel in 
the way. You hate honest emotions, you know.” 

He nodded, lifted his hat, and turned. On 
his way down alone, he stopped once for a mo- 
ment and exclaimed, 

“ Good heavens ! And I believe she’d rather 
meet the devil himself. She is a woman ! ” 

278 


THE BARONS CONTRIBUTION 


Mrs. Dennison pursued her way at a gentler 
pace. Before she came in sight, she heard her 
children’s delighted chatterings, and, a moment 
later, Harry’s hearty tones. His voice brought 
to her, in fullest force, the thing that was always 
with her — with her as the cloak that a man hath 
upon him, and as the girdle that he is always 
girded withal. 

When the children saw her, they ran to her, 
seizing her hands and dragging her towards 
Harry. A little way off stood Marjory Valen- 
tine, with a nervous smile on her lips. Harry 
himself stood waiting, and Mrs. Dennison walked 
up to him and kissed him. Not till that was 
done did she speak or look him in the face. 
He returned her kiss, and then, talking rapidly, 
she made him sit down, and sat herself, and took 
her little boy on her knee. And she called Mar- 
jory, telling her jokingly that she was one of the 
family. 

Harry began to talk of his journey, and they 
all joined in. Then he grew silent, and the 
children chattered more about the delights of 
Dieppe, and how all would be perfect now that 
father was come. And, under cover of their 
chatter, Maggie Dennison stole a long covert 
glance at her husband. 

“ And Tom’s here, father,” cried the little boy 
on her lap exultingly. 


279 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“Yes,” chimed in Madge, “and Mr. Ruston’s 
gone.” 

There was a momentary pause ; then Mrs. 
Dennison, in her calmest voice, began to tell 
her husband of the sickness of the Baron. And 
over Harry Dennison’s face there rested a new 
look, and she felt it on her as she talked of the 
Baron. She had seen him before unsatisfied, 
puzzled, and bewildered by her, but never before 
with this look on his face. It seemed to her 
half entreaty and half suspicion. It was plain 
for everyone to see. He kept his eyes on her, 
and she knew that Marjory must be reading 
him as she read him. And under that look she 
went on talking about the Baron. The look did 
not frighten her. She did not fear his suspi- 
cions, for she believed that he would still take 
her word against all the world — ay, against the 
plainest proof. But she almost broke under the 
burden of it ; it made her heart sick with pity 
for him. She longed to cry out, then and there, 
“ It isn’t true, Harry, my poor dear, it isn’t true.” 
She could tell him that — it would not be all a lie. 
And when the children went away to prepare 
for lunch, she did much that very thing ; for, 
with a laughing glance of apology at Marjory, 
she sat on her husband’s knee and kissed him 
twice on either cheek, whispering, 

“ I’m so glad you’ve come, Harry.” 

280 


THE BARON S CONTRIBUTION 


And he caught her to him with sudden vio- 
lence — unlike his usual manner, and looked into 
her eyes and kissed her. Then they rose, and 
he turned towards the house. 

For a moment Marjory and Mrs. Dennison 
were alone together. Mrs. Dennison spoke in a 
loud clear voice — a voice her husband must hear. 

“We’re shamefully foolish, aren’t we, Mar- 
jory ? ” 

The girl made no answer, but, as she looked at 
Maggie Dennison, she burst into a sudden con- 
vulsive sob. 

“Hush, hush,” whispered Maggie eagerly. 
“ My God ! if I can, you can ! ” 

So they went in and joined the children at 
their merry, noisy meal. 


281 


CHAPTER XXI 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 

Willie Huston slept, on the night following his 
return to London, in the Carlins’ House at 
Hampstead. The all-important question of the 
railway made a consultation necessary, and Hus- 
ton’s indisposition to face his solitary rooms 
caused him to accept gladly the proffered hospi- 
tality. The little cramped place was always a 
refuge and a rest ; there he could best rejoice 
over a victory or forget a temporary defeat. 
There he fled now, in the turmoil of his mind. 
The question of the railway had hurried him from 
Dieppe, but it could not carry away from him 
the memories of Dieppe. Yet that was the office 
he had already begun to ask of it — of it and of 
the quiet busy life at Hampstead, where he lin- 
gered till a week stretched to two and to three, 
spending his days at work in the city, and his 
evenings, after his romp with the children, in 
earnest and eager talk and speculation. He re- 
gretted bitterly his going to Dieppe. He had 
done what he condemned ; he had raised up a 
perpetual reproach and a possible danger. He 
was not a man who could dismiss such a thing 
282 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


with a laugh or a sneer, with a pang of penitence 
and a swift reaction to the low levels of morality, 
with a regret for imprudence and a prayer against 
consequences. His nature was too deep, and the 
influence he had met too strong, for any of these 
to be enough. Yet he had suffered the question 
of the railway to drag him away at a moment’s 
notice ; and he was persuaded that he must take 
his leaving as setting an end to all that had 
passed. All that must be put behind ; forgetful- 
ness in thought might be a relief impossible to 
attain, a relief that he would be ashamed of striv- 
ing to attain ; but forgetfulness in act seemed a 
duty to be done. In his undeviating reference 
of everything to his own work in life, and his 
neglect of any other touchstone, he erected into 
an obligation what to another would have been 
a shameless matter of course ; or, again, to yet 
another, a source of shamefaced relief. His sins 
were sin first against himself, in the second de- 
gree only against the participant in them ; his 
preoccupation with their first quality went far to 
blind him to the second. 

Yet he was very sorry for Maggie Dennison. 
Nay, those words were ludicrously feeble for the 
meaning he wanted from them. Acutely con- 
scious of having done her a wrong, he was 
vaguely aware that he might underestimate the 
wrong, and remembered uneasily how she had 
283 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

told him that he did not understand, and de- 
spaired because he could not understand. He 
felt more for her now — much more, it seemed to 
him ; but the consciousness of failure to put him- 
self where she stood dogged him, making him 
afraid sometimes that he could not realise her 
sufferings, sometimes that he was imputing to 
her fictitious tortures and a sense of ignominy 
which was not her own. Searching light, he 
began to talk to Carlin, in general terms, of 
course, and by way of chance discourse ; and he 
ran up against a curious stratum of Puritanism 
imbedded amongst the man’s elastic principles. 
The narrowest and harshest judgment of an 
erring woman accompanied the supple trader 
and witnessed the surviving barbarian in Mr. 
Carlin ; an accidental distant allusion displayed 
an equally relentless attitude in his meek, hard- 
working little wife. Willie Ruston drew in his 
feelers, and, aghast at the evil these opinions 
stamped as the product of his acts, declared for 
a moment that his life must be the only and 
insufficient atonement. The moment was a 
brief one. He dismissed the opinions with a 
curse, their authors with a smile, and did not 
scorn to take for comfort even Maggie Denni- 
son’s own enthusiasm for his work. That had 
drawn them together; that must rule and limit 
the connection which it had created. An end — 
284 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 

a bound— a peremptory stop (there was still time 
to stop) was the thing. She would see that, as 
he saw it. God knew (he said to himself) what 
a wrench it was— for she meant more to him than 
he had ever conceived a woman could mean ; 
but the wrench must be undergone. He would 
rather die than wreck his work ; and she, he 
knew, rather die than prove a wrecking siren to 
him. 

Suddenly, across the desponding stubbornness 
of his resolves, flashed, with a bright white light, 
the news of the Baron’s legacy, accompanying, 
but, after a hasty, regretful thought and a kindly, 
regretful smile, obliterating the fact of the Baron’s 
death. Half the steps upward, he felt, which he 
had set himself painfully and with impatient 
labour to cut, were hewn deep and smooth for 
his feet ; he had now but to tread, and lift his 
foot and tread again. From a paid servant of 
his Company, powerful only by a secret influence 
unbased on any substantial foundation, he leapt 
to the position of a shareholder with a larger 
stake than any man besides ; no intrigue could 
shake him now, no sudden gust of petulant im- 
patience at the tardiness of results displace him. 
He had never thought of this motive behind 
the Baron’s large purchases of Omofaga shares ; 
as he thought of it, he had not been himself 
had he not smiled. And his smile was of the 
19 285 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


same quality as had burst on his face when first 
Maggie Dennison dropped the veil and owned 
his sway. 

One day he did not go down to the city, but 
spent his time wandering on the heath, mapping 
out what he would do in the fast-approaching 
days in Omofaga. The prospects were clearing ; 
he had had two interviews with Lord Detch- 
more, and the Minister had fallen back from his 
own objections on to the scruples of his col- 
leagues. It was a promising sign, and Willie 
was pressing his advantage. The fall in the 
shares had been checked ; Tom Loring wrote no 
more; and Mrs. Carlin had forgotten to mourn 
the extinct coal business. He came home, with 
a buoyant step, at four o’clock, to find Carlin 
awaiting him with dismayed face. There was 
the worst of news from Queen Street. Mr. 
Dennison had written announcing resignation 
of his place on the Board. 

“ It’s a staggering blow,” said Carlin, thrusting 
his hands into his pockets. “ Can’t you bring 
him round ? Why is he doing it ? ” 

“ Well, what does he say? ” asked Ruston, a 
frown on his brow. 

“ Oh, some nonsense — pressure of other busi- 
ness or something of that kind. Can’t you go 
and see him, Willie ? He’s back in town. He 
writes from Curzon Street.” 

286 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


“ I don’t know why he does it,” said Ruston 
slowly. 44 I knew he’d been selling out.” 

44 He hasn’t made money at that.” 

“ No. I’ve made the profit there,” said Rus- 
ton, with a sudden smile. 

“ The Baron bought ’em, eh ? ” laughed Car- 
lin. 44 You generally come out right side up, 
Willie. You’ll go and see him, though, won’t 
you?” 

Yes. He would go. That was the resolution 
which in a moment he reached. If there were 
danger, he must face it ; if there were calamity, 
he must know it. He would go and see Harry 
Dennison. 

As he was, on the stroke of half-past four, he 
jumped into a hansom-cab, and bade the man 
drive to Curzon Street. 

Harry was not at home — nor Mrs. Dennison, 
added the servant. But both were expected 
soon. 

44 I’ll wait,” said Willie, and he was shown up 
into the drawing-room. 

As the servant opened the door, he said in his 
low respectful tones, 

44 Mrs. Cormack is here, sir, waiting for Mrs. 
Dennison.” 

A moment later Willie Ruston was over- 
whelmed in a shrilly enthusiastic greeting. 
Mrs. Cormack had been in despair from ennui ; 

287 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Maggies delay was endless, and Mr. Ruston 
was in verity a godsend. Indeed there was 
every appearance of sincerity in the lady’s wel- 
come. She stood and looked at him with an 
expression of most wicked and mischievous 
pleasure. The remorse detected by Tom Loring 
was not visible now ; pure delight reigned su- 
preme, and gave free scope to her frivolous fear- 
lessness. 

44 Enfin ! ” she said. 44 Behold the villain of 
the piece ! ” 

He opened his eyes in questioning. 

“ Oh, you think to deceive me too ? Why, 
I have prophesied it.” 

44 You are,” said Willie, standing on the hearth- 
rug, and gazing at her nervous, restless figure, 
so rich in half-expressed hints too subtle for 
language, “ the most outrageous of women, Mrs. 
Cormack. Fortunately you have a fling at 
everybody, and the saints come off as badly as 
the sinners.” 

A shrug asserted her opinion of his pretences. 
He answered, 

“ I really am so unfortunate as not to have the 
least idea what you’re driving at.” 

An inarticulate, scornful little sound greeted 
this protest. 

44 Oh, well, I shall wait till you say something, 
remarked Willie, with a laugh. 44 1 can’t deny 
288 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


villainies wholesale, and I can’t argue against 
Gallic ejaculations.” 

“You still come here?” she asked, ignoring 
his rudeness, and coming to close quarters with 
native audacity. 

He looked at her for a moment, and then 
walked up to her chair, and stood over her. 
She leant back, gazing up at him with a smile. 

“ Look here ! Don’t talk nonsense,” he said 
brusquely; “even such talk as yours may do 
harm with fools.” 

“ Fools ! ” she echoed. “ You mean — ? ” 

“ More than half the world,” he interrupted. 

“ Including — ? ” she began again in mockery. 

“ Some of our acquaintance,” he answered, 
with the glimmer of a smile. 

“Ah, I thought you were angry!” she cried, 
pointing at the smile on his lips. 

“ I shall be, if you don’t hold your tongue.” 

“ You beg me to be silent, Mr. Ruston ? ” 

« I desire you not to chatter about me, Mrs. 
Cormack.” 

“Ah, what politeness! I shall say what I 
please,” and she rose and stood facing him 
defiantly. 

“ I wish,” he said, “ that I could tell you 
what they do to gossiping women in Omofaga. 
It is so very disagreeable — and appropriate. 

“ Oh, I don’t mind hearing.” 

289 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 I can believe it, but I mind saying.” 

She flushed, and her breath came more 
quickly. 

“No doubt you will enforce the treatment — 
in your own interest,” she said. 

“You won’t be there,” replied he, with af- 
fected regret. 

“Well, here I shall say what I please.” 

“ And who will listen? ” 

“ One man, at least,” she cried, in incautious 
anger. “Ah, you’d like to beat me, wouldn’t 
you ? ” 

4 4 Why suggest the impossible ? ” he asked, 
smiling. 44 1 can’t beat every — ” He paused, 
and added with deliberateness, 44 every vulgar- 
minded woman in London ; ” and turning his 
back on her, he sat down and took up a news- 
paper that lay on the table. 

For full five or six minutes Mrs. Cormack sat 
silent. Willie Ruston glanced through the lead- 
ing article, and turned the paper, folding it neat- 
ly. There was a letter from a correspondent on 
the subject of the watersheds of Central South 
Africa, and he was reading it with attention. 
He thought that he recognised Tom Loring’s 
hand. The watersheds of Omofaga were not 
given their due. Ah, and here was that old 
falsehood about arid wastes round Fort Impe- 
rial! 


290 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


“ By Jove, it’s too bad! ” he exclaimed aloud. 

Mrs. Cormack, who had for the last few mo- 
ments been watching him first with a frown, 
then with a half-credulous, half-amazed smile, 
burst out into laughter. 

“ Really, one might as well be offended with 
a grizzly bear ! ” she cried. 

He put down the paper, and met her gaze. 

“ How in the world,” she went on, 44 does she 
— there, I beg your pardon. How does anyone 
endure you, Mr. Ruston ? ” 

As she spoke, before he could answer, the 
door opened, and Harry Dennison came in. He 
entered with a hesitating step. After greeting 
Mrs. Cormack, he advanced towards Ruston. 
The latter held out his hand, and Harry took it. 
He did not look Ruston in the eyes. 

44 How are you?” said he. 44 You want to 
see me ? ” 

44 Well, for a moment, if you can spare the 
time — on business.” 

44 Is it about my letter to Carlin? ” 

Ruston nodded. Mrs. Cormack kept a close 
watch. 

“ I — I can’t alter that,” said Harry, in a con- 
fused way. 44 Sir George is so crippled now, so 
much of the work falls on me; I have really no 
time.” 

44 You might have left us your name.” 

291 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


" I couldn’t do that, could I ? Suppose you 
came to grief? ” and he laughed uncomfortably. 

Willie Ruston was afflicted by a sense of 
weakness — a vulnerability new in his experience 
— forbidding him to be urgent with the rene- 
gade. Had Carlin been present, he would have 
stood astounded at his chiefs tongue-tiedness. 
Mrs. Cormack smiled at it, and her smile, caught 
in a swift glance by Ruston, spurred him to a 
voluble appeal that sounded to himself hollow 
and ineffective. It had no effect on Harry Den- 
nison, who said little, but shook his head with 
unfailing resolution. Mrs. Cormack could not 
resist the temptation to offer matters an oppor- 
tunity of development. 

“ But what does Maggie say to your deser- 
tion ? ” she asked in an innocently playful way. 

Harry seemed nonplussed at the question, 
and Willie Ruston interposed, 

“We needn’t bring Mrs. Dennison into it,” he 
said, smiling. “ It’s a matter of business, and if 
Dennison has made up his mind — ” 

He ended with a shrug, and took up his hat. 

“ I — I think so, Ruston,” stumbled Harry. 

“ Where is Maggie ? ” asked Mrs. Cormack 
curiously. “ They told me she would be in 
soon.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Harry. “ She went out 
driving. She’s sometimes late in coming back.” 

292 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


Ruston was shaking hands with Mrs. Cor- 
mack, and, when he w T alked out, Harry followed 
him. The two men went downstairs in silence. 
Harry opened the front door. Willie Ruston 
held out his hand, but Harry did not this time 
take it. Holding the door-knob, he looked at 
his visitor with a puzzled entreaty in his eyes, 
and his visitor suddenly felt sorry for him. 

“ I hope Mrs. Dennison is well ? ” said Ruston 
after a pause. 

44 No,” answered Harry, with rough abrupt- 
ness. 44 She’s not well. I knew how it would 
be; I told you. You would go.” 

46 My dear fellow — ” 

44 You would talk to her about your miserable 
Company — our Company, if you like. I knew 
it would do her harm. I told you so.” 

He was pouring out his incoherent charges 
and repetitions in a fretful petulance. 

44 The doctor says her nerves are all wrong ; 
she must be left alone. I see it. She’s not her- 
self.” 

44 Then that,” said Ruston, 44 is the real reason 
why you’re severing yourself from us ? ” 

44 1 don’t want her to hear anything more 
about it ; she got absorbed in it. I told you she 
would, but you wouldn’t listen. Tom Loring 
thought just the same. But you would go.” 

44 Is she ill ? ” 


293 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 Oh, I don’t know that she’s ill. She’s — she’s 
not herself. She’s strange.” 

The note of distress in his voice grew more 
acute as he went on. 

44 I’m very sorry,” said Willie, baldly. 44 Give 
her my best — ” 

“ If you want to see me again about it, I — 
you’ll always know where to find me in the City, 
won’t you?” He shuffled his feet nervously, 
and twisted the door-knob as he spoke. 

“ You mean,” asked Ruston, slowly, “that I’d 
better not come here ? ” 

“ Well, yes — just now,” mumbled Harry; and 
he added apologetically, “ She’s seeing very few 
people just now, you know.” 

“As you please, of course,” said Ruston, 
shortly. 44 1 daresay you’re right. I should like 
to say, Dennison, that I did not intend — ” He 
suddenly stopped short. There was no need to 
rush unbidden into more falseness. 44 Good- 
bye,” he said. 

Harry took the offered hand in a limp gasp, 
but his eyes did not leave the ground. A mo- 
ment later the door closed, and Ruston was 
alone outside — knowing that he had been turned 
out — in however ineffective, blundering manner, 
yet, in fact, turned out — and by Harry Denni- 
son. That Harry knew nothing, he hardly felt 
as a comfort; that perhaps he suspected hardly 
294 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


as a danger. He was angry and humiliated that 
such a thing should happen, and that he should 
be powerless to prevent, and without title to re- 
sent, the blow. 

Looking up he caught sight dimly in the dim 
light of a lithe figure and a mocking face. Mrs. 
Cormack had regained her own house by means 
of the little gate, and stood leaning over the bal- 
cony smiling at him like some disguised fiend in 
a ballet or opera-bouffe. He heard a tinkling 
laugh. Had she listened ? She was capable of 
it, and if she had, it might well be that she had 
caught a word or two. But perhaps his air and 
attitude were enough to tell the tale. She 
craned her neck over the parapet, and called to 
him, 

“ I hope we shall see you soon again. Of 
course, you’ll be coming to see Maggie soon? ” 

“ Oh, soon, I hope,” he answered sturdily, 
and the low tinkle of laughter rang out again in 
answer. 

Without more, he turned on his heel and 
walked down the street, a morose frown on his 
brow. 

He had been gone some half-hour when, just 
before eight o’clock, Mrs. Dennison’s victoria 
drove quickly up to the door. The evening was 
chilly and she was wearing her furs. Her face 
rose pale and rigid above them ; and as she walked 
295 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


to the house, her steps dragged as though in 
weariness. She did not go upstairs, but knocked, 
almost timidly, at the door of her husband’s study. 
Entering in obedience to his call, she found him 
sitting in his deep leathern arm-chair by the 
fire. She leant her arm on the back and stared 
over his head into the fire. 

“ Anyone been, Harry ? ” she asked. 

He lifted his eyes with a start. 

“ Is it you, Maggie ? ” he cried, leaping up and 
seizing her hand. “Why, how cold you are, 
dear ! Come and sit by the fire.” 

She did as he bade her. 

“ Any visitors ? ” she asked again. 

“Ruston,” he answered, turning and poking 
the fire as he did so. “ He came to see me about 
the Company, you know.” 

“ Is he long gone ? ” 

“Yes, some time.” 

“ He was angry, was he ? ” 

“Yes, Maggie. But I stuck to it. I won’t 
have anything more to do with the thing.” 

His petulance betrayed itself again in his voice. 
She said nothing, and, after a moment, he asked, 
anxiously, 

“Do you mind much? You know the doc- 
tor—” 

“Oh, the doctor! No, Harry, I don’t mind. 
Do as you like. He can get on without us. ” 

296 


A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 


“ If you really mind, I’ll try — •” 

“No, no, no,” she burst out. “You’re quite 
right. Of course you’re right. I don’t want you 
to go on. I’m tired of it too.” 

“ Are you ? ” he asked, with a face suddenly 
brightening. “Are you really? Then I’m 
glad I told Ruston not to come bothering about 
it here.” 

Had he been listening, he could have heard the 
sharp indrawing of her breath. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she asked. 

“ Why, I told him not to come and see you 
till — till you were stronger.” 

She shot a terrified glance at him. His ex- 
pression was merely anxious and, according to 
its wont when he was in a difficulty, apolo- 
getic. 

“ And he won’t be here much longer now,” he 
added, comfortingly. 

“No, not much,” she forced herself to mur- 
mur. 

“Won’t you go and dress for dinner?” he 
asked, after a moment. “It’s ordered for a 
quarter-past, and it’s more than that now.” 

“Is it? I’ll come directly. You go, and I’ll 
follow you. I sha’n’t be long.” 

He came near to where she sat. 

“ Are you feeling better ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, Harry, Harry, I’m well, perfectly well ! 

297 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


You and your doctor ! ” and she broke into an 
impatient laugh. 44 You’ll persuade me into the 
grave before you’ve done.” 

He looked at her for a moment, and then, 
shaping his lips to a whistle, sounded a few dreary 
notes and stole out of the room. 

She heard the door close, and, sitting up, 
stretched her arms over her head. Then she 
sighed for relief at his going. It was much to 
be alone. 


298 


CHAPTER XXII 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 

“ A month to-day ! ” said Lady Valentine, paus- 
ing in her writing (she had just set “ Octr. 10th” 
at the head of her paper) and gazing sorrow- 
fully across the room at Marjory. 

Marjory knew well what she meant. The 
poor woman was counting the days that still lay 
between her and the departure of her son. 

“Now don’t, mother,” protested Marjory. 

“ Oh, I know I’m silly. I met Mr. Huston at 
the Seminghams’ yesterday, and he told me that 
there wasn’t the least danger, and that it was a 
glorious chance for Walter — just what you said 
from the first, dear — and that Walter could run 
over and see me in about eighteen months’ time. 
Oh, but, Marjory, I know it’s dangerous ! ” 

Marjory rose and crossed over to where her 
mother sat. 

“ You must be a Spartan matron, dear,” said 
she. “ You can’t keep Walter in leading strings 
all his life.” 

“No; but he might have stayed here, and got 
on, and gone into Parliament, and so on.” She 
paused and added, “ Like Evan, you know.” 

299 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Maijory coloured — more from self-reproach 
than embarrassment. She had gone in these 
last weeks terribly near to forgetting poor 
Evan’s existence. 

“Evan came in while I was at the Seming- 
hams’. He looked so dull, poor fellow. I — I 
asked him to dinner, Marjory. He hasn’t been 
here for a long while. We haven’t seen nearly 
as much of him since we knew Mr. Ruston. I 
don’t think they like one another.” 

“ You know why he hasn’t come here,” said 
Marjory softly. 

“ He spent a week with me while you wete at 
Dieppe. He seemed to like to hear about you.” 

A smile of sad patience appeared on Mar- 
jory’s face. 

“ Oh, my dear, you are such a bad hinter,” she 
half laughed, half moaned. “ Poor Evan ! I’m 
very sorry for him; but I can’t help it, can I? ” 

“ It would have been so nice.” 

“And you used to be such a mercenary 
creature ! ” 

“ Ah, well, my dear, I want to keep one of my 
children with me. But, if it can’t be, it can’t.” 

Marjory bent down and whispered in her 
mother’s ear, “ I’m not going to Omofaga, dear.” 

“ W ell, I used to be half afraid of it,” admitted 
Lady Valentine (she forgot that she had half 
hoped it also) ; “ but you never seem to be in- 
300 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


terested in him now. Do you mind Evan com- 
ing to dinner? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Marjory. 

Since her return from Dieppe she had seemed 
to “ mind ” nothing. Relaxation of the strain 
under which her days passed there had left her 
numbed. She was conscious only of a passion- 
ate shrinking from the sight or company of the 
two people who had there filled her life. To 
meet them again forced her back in thought to 
that dreary mysterious night with its unsolved 
riddle, that she feared seeking to answer. 

Her mother had called on Maggie Dennison, 
and came back with a flow of kindly lamenta- 
tions over Maggie's white cheeks and listless, 
weary air. Her brother was constantly with 
Ruston, and tried to persuade her to join parties 
of which he was to be one. She fenced with 
both of them, escaping on one plea and another; 
and Maggie’s acquiescence in her absence, no 
less than Ruston’s failure to make a chance of 
meeting her, strengthened her resolve to remain 
aloof. 

Young Sir Walter also came to dinner that 
night ; he was very gay and chatty, full of Omo- 
faga and his fast-approaching expedition. He 
greeted Evan Haselden with a manner that 
claimed at least equality ; nay, he lectured him a 
little on the ignorant interference of a stay-at- 
20 301 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


home House of Commons with the work of the 
men on the spot, in South Africa and elsewhere ; 
people on this side would not give a man a free 
hand, he complained, and exhorted Evan to take 
no part in such ill-advised meddling. 

Hence he was led on to the topic he was 
never now far away from — Willie Ruston — and 
he reproached his mother and sister for their 
want of attention to the hero. 

This was the first gleam of light for poor 
Evan Haselden, for it told him that Willie Rus- 
ton was not, as he had feared, a successful rival. 
He rejoiced at Lady Valentine’s hinted dislike 
of Ruston, and anxiously studied Marjory’s face 
in hope of detecting a like disposition. But his 
vanity led him to return Walter’s lecture, and 
he added an innuendo concerning the unscrupu- 
lousness of adventurers who cloaked money-mak- 
ing under specious pretences. Walter flared up 
in a moment, and the dinner ended in something 
like a dispute between the two young men. 

“Well, Dennison’s found him out, anyhow,” 
said Evan bitterly. “ He’s cut the whole con- 
cern.” 

“ We can do without Dennison,” said young 
Sir Walter scornfully. 

When the meal was finished, young Sir Wal- 
ter, treating his friend without ceremony, care- 
lessly pleaded an engagement, and went out. 

302 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


Lady Valentine, interpreting Evan’s glances, and 
hoping against hope, seized the chance of leaving 
him alone with her daughter. Marjory watched 
the manoeuvre without thwarting it. Her heart 
was more dead to Evan than it had ever been. 
Her experiences at Dieppe had aged her mind, 
and she found him less capable of stirring any 
feeling in her than even in the days when she 
had half made a hero out of Willie Ruston. 

She waited for his words in resignation ; and 
he, acute enough to mark her moods, began as a 
man begins who rushes on anticipated defeat. 
What is unintelligible seems most irresistible, 
and he knew not at what point to attack her in- 
difference. He saw the change in her ; he could 
have dated its beginning. The cause he found 
somehow in Huston, but yet it was clear to him 
that she did not think of Ruston as a suitor — 
almost clear that she heard his name and thought 
of him with repulsion — and that the attraction 
he had once exercised over her was gone. 

The weary talk wore to its close, ending with 
angry petulance on his side, and, at last, on hers 
with a grief that was half anger. He could not 
believe in her decision, unless there were one who 
had displaced him ; and, seeing none save Rus- 
ton, in spite of his own convictions, he broke at 
last into a demand to be told whether she thought 
of him. Marjory started in horror, crying, “ No, 
303 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

no,” and, for all Evan’s preoccupation, her vehe- 
mence amazed him. 

“ Oh, you’ve found him out too, perhaps,” he 
sneered. 44 You’ve found him out by now. All 
the same, it was his fault that you didn’t care for 
me before.” 

“Evan,” she implored, “do, pray, not talk 
like that. There’s not a man in the whole world 
that I would not have for my husband rather 
than him.” 

4 4 Now,” he repeated; “ but I’m speaking of 
before.” 

Half angry again at that he should allow him- 
self such an insinuation, she yet liked him too 
well, and felt too unhappy, to be insincere. 

“Well,” she said with a troubled smile, “if 
you like, I’ve found him out.” 

44 Then, Marjory,” cried Evan, in a spasm 
of reviving hope, 44 if that fellow’s out of the 
way—” 

But she would not hear him, and he flung him- 
self out of the house with a rudeness that his 
love pardoned. 

She heard him go, in aching sorrow that he, 
who felt few things deeply, should feel this one 
so deeply. Then, following the calls of society, 
which are followed in spite of most troubles, she, 
pale-faced and sad, and her mother, almost weep- 
ing in motherly distress, dressed themselves to go 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 

to a party. Lady Semingham was at home that 
night. 

At the party all was gay and bright. Lady 
Semingham was chattering to Mr. Otto Heather, 
Semingham was trying to make Mr. Foster Bel- 
ford understand the story of the Baron and Willie 
Ruston, Lord Detchmore, who had come in from 
a public dinner, was conspicuous in his blue 
riband, and was listening to Adela Ferrars with 
a smile on his face. Marjory sat down in a 
corner, hoping to escape introductions, and, when 
an old friend carried her mother off to eat an ice, 
she kept her place. Presently she heard cried, 
“ Mrs. Dennison,” and Maggie came in with her 
usual grace. It seemed as though the last few 
months were blotted out, and they were all again 
at that first party at Mrs. Dennisons where Willie 
Ruston had made his entree . The illusion was 
not to lack confirmation, for, a moment later, 
Ruston himself was announced, and the sound 
of his name made Adela turn her head for 
one swift moment from her distinguished com- 
panion. 

“ Ah ! ” said Lord Detchmore, “ then I must 
go. If I talk to him any more I’m a lost 
man.” 

“ There’s Mr. Loring in the corner — no, not 
that corner; that’s Marjory Valentine. He will 
take your side.” 


305 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

“ Why are they all in corners? ” asked Detch- 
more. 

44 They don’t want to be trodden on,” said 
Adela, with a grimace. 44 You’d better take one 
too.” 

44 There’s Mrs. Dennison in a third corner. 
Shall I take that one, or should I get trodden on 
there? ” 

Adela looked up swiftly. His remark hinted 
at gossip afloat. 

44 Take one for yourself,” she began, with an 
uneasy laugh. But the laugh suddenly became 
genuine for the very absurdity of the thing. 
44 We’ll go and join Mr. Loring, shall we?” she 
proposed. 

Lord Detchmore acquiesced, and they walked 
over to where Tom stood. On their way, to their 
consternation, they encountered Willie Ruston. 

“Now we’re in for it,” breathed Detchmore in 
low tones. But Ruston, with a bow, passed on, 
going straight as an arrow towards where Maggie 
Dennison sat. Lord Detchmore raised his eye- 
brows, Adela shut her fan with a click, Tom 
Loring, when they reached him, was frowning. 
Away across the room sat Marjory alone. 

44 Good heavens ! he let me alone ! ” exclaimed 
Lord Detchmore. 

“Perhaps I was your shield,” said Adela. 
44 He doesn’t like me.” 


306 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


“Nor you, Loring, I expect?” 

Presently Lord Detchmore moved away, leav- 
ing Adela and Tom together. They had been 
together a good deal lately, and their tones 
showed the intimacy of friendship. 

“That man,” said Adela quickly, “suspects 
something. He’s a terrible old gossip, although 
he is a great statesman, of course. Can’t you 
prevent them talking there together? ” 

“ No,” said Tom composedly, “ I can’t ; she’d 
send me away if I went.” 

“ Then I shall go. Why isn’t Harry here ? ” 

“ He wouldn’t come. I’ve been dining with 
him at the club.” 

“ He ought to have come.” 

“I don’t believe it would have made any 
difference.” 

Adela looked at him for a moment ; then she 
walked swiftly across the room to Maggie Den- 
nison, and held out her hand. 

“ Maggie, I haven’t had a talk with you for 
ever so long. How do you do, Mr. Ruston? ” 

Ruston shook hands, but did not move. He 
stood silently through two or three moments of 
Adela’s forced chatter. Mrs. Dennison was sit- 
ting on a small couch, which would just hold 
two people ; but she sat in the middle of it, and 
did not offer to make room for Adela. When 
Adela paused for want of anything to say, there 
307 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


was silence. She looked from the one to the 
other. Ruston smiled the smile that always 
exasperated her on his face — the smile of pos- 
session she called it in an attempt at definition. 

“ Look at Marjory ! ” said Mrs. Dennison. 
“ How solitary she looks ! Poor girl ! Do go 
and talk to her, Adela.” 

“ I came to talk to you,” said Adela, in fiery 
temper. 

“Well, I’ll come and talk to you both 
directly,” said Maggie. 

‘ 4 Were talking business,” added Willie Rus- 
ton, still smiling. 

“ Oh, if you don’t want me ! ” cried Adela, 
and she turned away, declaring in her heart that 
she had made the last effort of friendship. 

With her going went Ruston’s smile. He 
bent his head, and said in a low voice, 

“ You are the only woman whom I could have 
left like that, and the only one whom I could have 
found it hard to leave. Was it very hard for you? ” 

“ It was just the truth for me,” she answered. 

“ Of course you were angry and hurt. I was 
afraid you would be,” he said. 

She looked at him with a curious smile. 

“ But then,” he continued, “ you saw how I 
was placed. Do you think I didn’t suffer in 
going? I’ve never had such a wrench in my 
life. Won’t you forgive me, Maggie?” 

308 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


“Forgive! What’s the use of talking like 
that? What’s the use of my ‘forgiving’ you 
for being what you are ? ” 

“ You talk as if you’d found me out in some- 
thing.” 

She turned to him, saying very low, 

“And haven’t you found me out, too? We 
are face to face now, Willie.” 

He did not fully understand her. Half in 
justification, half in apology, he said doggedly, 

“ I simply had to go.” 

“ Yes, you simply had to go. There was the 
railway. Oh, what’s the use of talking about 
it?” 

“ I was afraid you meant to have nothing 
more to do with me.” 

“ Or you wished it? ” she asked quickly. 

He started. She had discerned the thoughts 
that came into his mind in his solitary walks. 

“ Don’t be afraid. I’ve wished it,” she added. 

There was a pause ; then he, not denying her 
charge, whispered, 

“I can’t wish it now — not when I’m with 
you.” 

“ To have nothing more to do with you ! 
Ah, Willie, I have nothing to do with anything 
but you.” 

A swift glance from him told her that her 
appeal touched him. 


309 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

“ What else is left me ? Can I live as 1 am 
living ? ” 

“ What are we to do ? ” he asked. “We shall 
see one another sometimes now. I can’t come 
to your house, you know. But sometimes — ” 

“ At a party — here and there ! And the rest 
of the time I must live at — at home ! Home ! ” 

He bent to her, whispering, 

“We must arrange — ” 

“No, no,” she replied, passionately. “Don’t 
you see? ” 

“ What ? ” he asked, puzzled. 

“ Oh, you don’t understand ! It’s not that. 
It’s not that I can’t live without you.” 

“ I never said that,” he interposed quickly. 

“ And yet I suppose it is that. But it’s some- 
thing more. Willie, I can’t live with him.” 

“Does he suspect?” he asked in an eager 
whisper. 

“ I don’t know. I really don’t know. It’s 
worse if he doesn’t. Oh, if you knew what I feel 
when he looks at me, and asks — ” 

“ Asks what ? ” 

“Nothing — nothing in words; but, Willie, 
everything, everything. I shall go mad, if I stay. 
And then don’t you see — ? ” She stopped, going 
on again a moment later. “ I’ve borne it till I 
could see you. But I can’t go on bearing it. 5 " 

He glanced at her. 


310 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


“We can’t talk about it here,” he said. 
“Everybody will see how agitated you are.” 

For answer she schooled her face to rigidity, 
and her hands to motionlessness. 

“ You must talk about it — here and now,” she 
said. “ It’s the only time I’ve seen you since — 
Dieppe. What are you going to do, Willie ? ” 

He looked round. Then, with a smile, he 
offered his arm. 

“ I must take you to have something,” he said. 
“ Come, we must walk through the room.” 

She rose and took his arm. Bowing and smil- 
ing, she turned to greet her acquaintances. She 
stopped to speak to Lord Detchmore, and ex- 
changed a word with her host. 

“ Yes. What are you going to do? ” she asked 
again, aloud. 

They had reached the room where the buffet 
stood. Mrs. Dennison, after a few words to 
Lady V alentine, who was still there, sat down on 
a chair a little remote from the crowd. Ruston 
brought her a cup of coffee, and stood in front of 
her, with the half-conscious intention of shielding 
her from notice. She drank the coffee hastily ; its 
heat brought a slight glow to her face. 

“You’re going as you planned?” she asked. 

He answered in low, dry tones, emptied of all 
emotion. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ I’m going.” 

311 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


She stretched out her hand towards him im- 
ploringly. 

“Willie, you must take me with you,” she 
said. 

He looked down with startled face. 

“ My God, Maggie ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with him.” 

Her lips quivered ; he took her cup from her 
(he feared that she would let it fall), and set it 
on the table. Behind them he heard merry 
voices ; Semingham’s was loud among them. 
The voices were coming near them. 

“I must think,” he whispered. “We can’t 
talk now. I must see you again.” 

“ Where ? ” she asked helplessly. 

“Carlin’s. Come up to-morrow. I can ar- 
range it. For heaven’s sake, begin to talk about 
something.” 

She looked up in his face. 

“ I could stand here and tell it to the room,” 
she said, “ sooner than live as I live now.” 

He had no time to answer. Semingham’s 
arm was on his shoulder. Lord Detchmore 
stood by his side. 

“I want,” said Semingham, “to introduce 
Lord Detchmore to you, Mrs. Dennison. It’s 
not at all disinterested of me. You must per- 
suade him — you know what about.” 

“No, no,” laughed the Minister, “I mustn’t 
312 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


be talked to ; it’s highly improper, and I distrust 
my virtue.” 

“I’ll be bound now that you were talking 
about Omofaga this very minute,” pursued Sem- 
ingham. 

“ Of course we were,” said Huston. 

“You’re a great enthusiast, Mrs. Dennison,” 
smiled Detchmore. “You ought to go out, you 
know. Can’t you persuade your husband to 
lend you to the expedition ? ” 

Huston could have killed the man for his 
mal-apropos jesting. Maggie Dennison seemed 
unable to answer it. Semingham broke in 
lightly, 

“ It would be a fine chance for proving the 
quality — and the equality — of women,” said he. 
“ I always told Mrs. Dennison that she ought to 
be Queen of Omofaga.” 

“ And I hope,” said Detchmore, with a signifi- 
cant smile, “ that there’ll soon be a railway to 
take you there/’ 

Even at that moment, the light of triumph 
came suddenly gleaming into Huston’s eyes. 
He looked at Detchmore, who laughed and 
nodded. 

“ I think so. I think I shall be able to 
manage it,” he said. 

“ That’s an end to all our troubles,” said Seim 
ingham. “ Come, we’ll drink to it.” 

313 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


He signed to a waiter, who brought cham- 
pagne. Lord Detchmore gallantly pressed a 
glass on Mrs. Dennison. She shook her head, 
but took it. 

“ Long life to Omofaga, and death to its ene- 
mies ! ” cried Semingham in burlesque heroics, 
and, with a laugh — that was, as his laughs so 
often were, as much at himself as at the rest of 
the world — he made a mock obeisance to Willie 
Ruston, adding, 4 4 Moriamur pro rege nostro ! ” 
and draining the glass. 

Maggie Dennison’s eyes sparkled. Behind 
the mockery in Semingham’s jest, behind the 
only half make-believe homage which Detch- 
more’s humorous glance at Ruston showed, she 
saw the reality of deference, the acknowledg- 
ment of power in the man she loved. For a 
brief moment she tasted the troubled joy which 
she had paid so high to win. For a moment her 
eyes rested on Willie Ruston as a woman’s eyes 
rest on a man who is the world’s as well as hers, 
but also hers as he is not the world’s. She sipped 
the champagne, echoing in her low rich voice, so 
that the men but just caught the words, 44 Mori- 
amur pro rege nostro ,” and gave the glass into 
Ruston’s hand. 

A sudden seriousness fell upon them. Detch- 
more glanced at Semingham, and thence, curi- 
ously, at Willie Ruston, whose face was pale and 
314 


A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 


marked with a deep-lined frown. Mrs. Denni- 
son had sunk back in her chair, and her heart 
rose and fell in agitated breathings. Then Wil- 
lie Ruston spoke in cool, deliberate tones, 

“ The King there was a Queen,” he said. 
“You’ve drunk to the wrong person, Seming- 
ham. I’ll drink it right,” and, bowing to Maggie 
Dennison, he drained his glass. Looking up, he 
found Detchmore’s eyes on him in overpowering 
wonder. 

“ If I tell you a story, Lord Detchmore,” said 
he, “you’ll understand,” and, yielding his place 
by Maggie Dennison, he took Detchmore with 
him, and they walked away in talk. 

It was an hour later when Lord Detchmore 
took leave of his host. 

“Well, did you hear the story?” asked Sem- 
ingham. 

“Yes; I heard it,” said Detchmore, “about 
the telegram, wasn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, and of course, you see, it explains the 
toast.” 

“ That sounds like a question, Semingham.” 

« Oh, no. The note of interrogation was — a 
printer’s error.” 

“ It’s a remarkable story.” 

“ It really is, ” said Semingham. 

« And — is it the whole story ? ” 

“Well, isn’t it enough to justify the toast ? ” 
315 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ It — and she — are enough,” said Detchmore. 
“ But, Semingham — ” 

Lord Semingham, however, took him by the 
arm, walked him into the hall, got his hat and 
coat for him, helped him on with them, and 
wished him good-night. Detchmore submitted 
without resistance. Just at the last, however, as 
he fitted his hat on his head, he said, 

“You’re unusually explicit, Semingham. He 
goes to Omofaga soon, don’t he ? ” 

“ Yes, thank God,” said Semingham, almost 
cheerfully. 


316 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 

“You can manage it for me?” asked Willie 
Huston. 

“I suppose I can,” answered Carlin; “but it’s 
rather queer, isn’t it, Willie ? ” 

4 4 1 don’t know whether it’s queer or not ; but 
I must talk to her for half-an-hour. ” 

44 Why not at Curzon Street ? ” 

Ruston laughed a short little laugh. 

44 Do you really want the reason stated ? ” he 
inquired. 

Carlin shook his head gloomily, but he at- 
tempted no remonstrance. He confined himself 
to saying, 

44 1 hope the deuce your not getting yourself 
into a mess ! ” 

44 She’ll be here about five. You must be 
here, you know, and you must leave me with 
her. Look here, Carlin, I only want a word with 
her.” 

44 But my wife — ” 

44 Send your wife somewhere — to the theatre 
with the children, or somewhere. Mind you’re 
here to receive her.” 


21 


317 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


He issued his orders and walked away. He 
hated making arrangements of this sort, but there 
was (he told himself) no help for it. Anything 
was better than talking to Maggie Dennison be- 
fore the world in a drawing-room. And it was 
for the last time. Removed from her presence, 
he felt clear about that. The knot must be cut ; 
the thing must be finished. His approaching 
departure made a natural and inevitable end to 
it ; and her mad suggestion of coming with him 
showed in its real enormity as he mused on it in 
his solitary thoughts. For a moment she had 
carried him away. The picture of her pale, elo- 
quent face, and the gleam of her eager eyes had 
almost led him to self- betrayal ; the idea of her 
in such a mood beside him in his work and his 
triumphs had seemed for the moment irresistible. 
She could double his strength and make joy of 
his toil. But it could not be so ; and for it to 
be so, if it could be, he must stand revealed as a 
traitor to his friend, and be banned for an out- 
law by his acquaintance. He had been a traitor, 
of course ; but he need not persist. They — she 
and he — must not stereotype a passing madness, 
nor refuse the rescue chance had given them. 
There was time to draw back, to set matters 
right again — at least, to trammel up the conse- 
quence of wrong. 

When she came, and Carlin, frowning perplex- 
318 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 


edly, had, with awkward excuses, taken himself 
away, he said all this to her in stumbling speech. 
From the exaltation of the evening before they 
fell pitiably. They had soared then in vaulting 
imagination over the bristling barriers; to-day 
they could rise to no such height. Reality 
pressed hard upon them, crushing their romance 
into crime, their passion into the vulgarity of an 
everyday intrigue. This secret backstairs meet- 
ing seemed to stamp all that passed at it with 
its own degrading sign ; their high- wrought de- 
fiance of the world and the right dwindled 
before their eyes to a mean and sly evasiveness. 
So felt Willie Ruston ; and Maggie Dennison 
sat silent while he painted for her what he felt. 
She did not interrupt him ; now and again a 
shiver or a quick motion showed that she heard 
him. At last he had said his say, and stood, 
leaning against the mantelpiece, looking down on 
her. Then, without glancing up, she asked, 

“ And what’s to become of me, Willie ? ” 

The sudden simple question revealed him to 
himself. Put in plain English, his rigmarole 
meant, “ Go your way and I’ll go mine.” What 
he had said might be right — might be best — 
might be duty — might be religion — might be 
anything you would. But a man may forfeit the 
right to do right. 

“ Of you ? ” he stammered. 

319 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ I can’t live as I am,” she said. 

He began to pace up and down the room. 
She sat almost listlessly in her chair. There was 
an air of helplessness about her. But she was 
slowly thinking over what he had said, and realis- 
ing its purport. 

“ You mean we’re never to meet again ? ” she 
asked. 

“Not that!” he cried, with a sudden heat 
that amazed himself. “ Not that, Maggie. Why 
that?” 

“ Why that? ” she repeated in wondering tones. 
“ What else do you mean ? You don’t mean we 
should go on like this ? ” 

He did not dare to answer either way. The 
one was now impossible — had swiftly, as he 
looked at her, come to seem impossible ; the 
other was to treat her as not even he could 
treat her. She was not of the stuff to live a life 
like that. 

There was silence while he waged with himself 
that strange preposterous struggle, where evil 
seemed good, and good a treachery not to be 
committed ; wherein his brain seemed to invite 
to meanness, and his passion, for once, to point 
the better way. 

“ I wish to God we had never — ” he began ; 
but her despairing eyes stifled the feeble, useless 
sentence on his lips. 


320 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 


At last he came near to her; the lines were 
deep on his forehead, and his mouth quivered 
under a forced smile. He laid his hand on her 
shoulder. She looked up questioningly. 

“ You know what you’re asking? ” he said. 

She nodded her head. 

“ Then so be it, ” said he ; and he went again 
and leant against the mantelpiece. 

He felt that he had paid a debt with his life, 
but knew not whether the payment were too high. 

It seemed to him long before she spoke — long 
enough for him to repeat again to himself what 
he had done — how that he, of all men, had made 
a burden that would break his shoulders, and had 
fettered his limbs for all his life’s race — yet to be 
glad, too, that he had not shrunk from carrying 
what he had made, and had escaped coupling the 
craven with his other part. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she asked at last ; and 
there was surprise in her tone. 

“ It shall be as you wish,” he answered. “ W e’ll 
go through with it together.” 

Though he was giving what she asked, she 
seemed hardly to understand. 

“ I can’t let you go,” he said ; “ and I suppose 
you can’t let me go.” 

“ But — but what’ll happen ? ” 

“ God knows,” said he. “We shall be a long 
way off, anyhow.” 


321 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


44 In Omofaga, Willie ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

After a pause she rose and moved a step tow- 
ards him. 

44 Why are you doing it ? ” she asked, searching 
his eyes with hers. 44 Is it just because I ask ? 
Because you’re sorry for me ? ” 

She was standing near him, and he looked on 
her face. Then he sprang forward, catching her 
hands. 

“ It’s because you’re more to me than I ever 
thought any woman could be.” 

She let her hands lie in his. 

“But you came here,” she said, 4 4 meaning to 
send me away.” 

“I was a fool,” he said, grimly, between his 
teeth. 

She drew her hands away, and then whis- 
pered, 

44 And, Willie — Harry ? ” 

Again he had nothing to answer. She stood 
looking at him with a wistful longing for a 
word of comfort. He gave none. She passed 
her hand across her eyes, and burst into sudden 
sobs. 

44 How miserable lam!” she sobbed. 44 1 wish 
I was dead ! ” 

He made as though to take her hand again, 
but she shrank, and he fell back. With one 
322 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 

hand over her eyes, she felt her way back to her 
chair. 

For five minutes or more she sat crying. Rus- 
ton did not move. He had nothing wherewith 
to console her, and he dared not touch her. Then 
she looked up. 

“ If I were dead ? ” she said. 

“ Hush ! hush! You’d break my heart,” he 
answered in low tones. 

In the midst of her weeping, for an instant she 
smiled. 

“ Ah, Willie, Willie ! ” she said; and he knew 
that she read him through and through, so that 
he was ashamed to protest again. 

She did not believe in that from him. 

Presently her sobs ceased, and she crushed her 
handkerchief into a ball in her hand. 

“ W ell, Maggie ? ” said he in hard, even tones. 

She rose again to her feet and came to him. 

“ Kiss me, Willie,” she said; “ I’m going back 
home.” 

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She 
released herself, and gazed long in his face. 

“ Why ? ” he asked. “ You can’t bear it ; you 
know you can’t. Come with me, Maggie. I 
don’t understand you.” 

“ No ; I don’t understand myself. I came 
here meaning to go with you. I came here 
thinking I could never bear to go back. Ah, 

323 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


you don’t know what it is to live there now. 
But I must go back. Ah, how I hate it ! ” 

She laid her hand on his arm. 

46 Think — if I came with you ! Think, Willie ! ” 

“Yes,” he said, as though it had been wrung 
from him, 44 I know. But come all the same, 
Maggie,” and with a sudden gust of passion he 
began to beseech her, declaring that he would 
not live without her. 

“No, no,” she cried; 44 it’s not true, Willie, or 
you’re not the man I loved. Go on, dear ; go 
on. I shall hear about you. I shall watch you.” 

44 But you’ll be here — with him,” he muttered 
in grim anger. 

44 Ah, Willie, are you still — still jealous? Even 
now?” 

A silence fell between them. 

“You shall come,” he said at last. 4 4 What 
do I care for him or the rest of them? I care 
for nothing but you.” 

44 1 will not come, Willie. I dare not come. 
Willie, in a week — in a day — Willie, my dear, in 
an hour you will be glad that I would not come.” 

As she spoke, her voice grew louder. The 
words sounded like a sentence on him. 

44 Is that why ? ” he asked, regarding her with 
moody eyes. 

She hesitated before she answered, in bewil- 
dered despair. 


324 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 


“ Yes. I don’t know. In part it is. And I 
daren’t think of Harry. Let me think, Willie, 
that it’s a little bit because of Harry and the 
children. I know I can’t expect you to believe 
it, but it is a little, though it’s more because of 
you.” 

“ Of me ? — for my sake, do you mean ? ” 

“No; not altogether for your sake; because 
of you.” 

“ And, Maggie, if he suspects ? ” 

“ He won’t suspect,” she said. “ He would 
take my word against the world.” 

“ They suspect — some of them — that woman 
Mrs. Cormack. And — does Marjory ? ” 

“ It is nothing. He won’t believe. Marjory 
will not say a word.” 

“ You’ll persuade him that there was noth- 
ing-?” 

“ Yes; I’ll persuade him,” she answered. 

She began to pull a glove on to her hand. 

“ I must go,” she said. “ It’s nearly an hour 
since I came.” 

He took a step towards her. 

“You won’t come, Maggie ? ” he urged, and 
there was still eagerness in his voice. 

“Not again, Willie. I can’t stand it again. 
Good-bye. I’ve given you everything, Willie. 
And you’ll think of me now and then ? ” 

He was unmanned. He could not answer 
325 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


her, but turned towards the wall and covered 
his face with his hand. 

“ I shan’t think of you like that,” she said, a 
note of wondering reproach in her voice. “ I 
shall think of you conquering. I like the hard 
look that they blame you for. Well, you’ll have 
it soon again, Willie.” 

She moved towards the door. He did not 
turn. She waited an instant looking at him. A 
smile was on her lips, and a tear trickled down 
her cheek. 

“ It’s like shutting the door on life, Willie,” 
she said. 

He sprang forward, but she raised her hand to 
stay him. 

“ No. It is — settled,” said she ; and she opened 
the door of the room and walked out into the 
little entrance-hall. 

It was a wet evening, and the rain pattered 
on the roof of the projecting porch. They stood 
there a moment, till her cabman, who had taken 
refuge in the lee of the garden wall, brought his 
vehicle up to the door. They heard a step creak 
behind them in the hall, and then recede. Carlin 
was treading on tip-toe away. 

Maggie Dennison put out her hand and met 
Ruston’s. She pressed his hand with strength 
more than her own, and she said, very low, 

“I am dying now — this way — for my king, 
326 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 


Willie,” and she stepped out into the rain, and 
climbed into the cab. 

“Back to where you brought me from,” she 
called to the man, and, leaning forward, where 
the cab lamps caught her face, so that it gleamed 
like the face of some marble statue, she looked 
on Willie Ruston. Her lips moved, but he 
heard no word. The wheels turned and the 
lamps flashed, and she was carried away. 

Willie started forward a step or two, then ran 
to the gate and, leaning on it, watched the red 
lights as they fled away ; and long after they 
were gone, he stood there, bareheaded, in the 
drenching rain. He did not think ; he still saw 
her, still heard her voice, and watched her broad 
low brow. She still stood before him, not the 
fairest of women, but the woman who was for 
him. And the rumble of retreating wheels 
sounded again in his ears. She was gone. 

How long he stood he did not know. Pres- 
ently he felt an arm passed through his, and he 
was led back to the house. 

Old Carlin took him through the hall into his 
own little study, where a bright fire blazed, and 
gave him brandy, which he drank, and helped 
him off with his wet coat, and put a cricketing 
jacket on him, and pushed him into an arm- 
chair, and hunted for a pair of slippers for him. 

All this while neither spoke* and at last Car- 
327 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


lin, his tasks done, stood and warmed himself at 
the fire, looking steadily in front of him, and 
never at his friend. 

“You dear old fool,” said Willie Ruston. 

“Ah, well, well, you musn’t take cold. If 
you were laid up now, what the deuce would 
become of Omofaga ? ” 

His small, sharp, shrewd eyes blinked as he 
spoke, and he glanced at Willie Ruston as he 
named Omofaga. 

Willie sprang to his feet with an oath. 

“ My God ! ” he cried, “ why do you do this 
for me ? Who’ll do anything for her ? ” 

Carlin blinked again, keeping his gaze aloof. 
Then he held out his hand, and Willie seized it, 
saying, 

“I’m — I’m precious hard hit, old man.” 

The other nodded and, as Willie sank back in 
his chair, stole quietly out of the room, shutting 
the door close behind him. 

Willie Ruston drew his chair nearer the fire, 
and spread out his hands to the blaze. And as 
the heat warmed his frame, the stupor of his 
mind passed, and he saw some of what was true 
— a glimpse of his naked self thrown up against 
the light of the love that others found for him. 
And he turned away his eyes, for it seemed to 
him that he could not look long and endure to 
live. And he groaned that he had won love and 
328 


THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 


made for himself so mighty an accuser of debts 
that it lay not in him to pay. For even then, 
while he cursed himself, and cursed the nature 
that would not be changed in him ; even while 
the words of his love were in his ears, and her 
presence near with him ; even while life seemed 
naught for the emptiness her going made, and 
himself nothing but longing for her ; even then, 
behind regret, behind remorse, behind agony, 
behind self-contempt and self-disgust, lay hid- 
den, and deeper hidden as he thrust it down, the 
knowledge that he was glad — glad that his life 
was his own again, to lead and make and shape; 
wherein to take and hold, to play and win, to 
fasten on what was his, and to beat down his 
enemies before his face. That no man could 
rob him of, and the woman who could would 
not. So, as Maggie Dennison had said, in the 
passing of an hour he was glad ; and in the pass- 
ing of a week he had learnt to look in the face 
of the gladness which he had and loathed. 


329 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 

About a week later, Tom Loring sat at work in 
his rooms. The table was strewn with books of 
blue and of less alarming colours. Tom was 
smoking a short pipe, and when he paused for a 
fresh idea, the smoke welled out of his mouth, 
ay, and out of his nose, thick and fast. For a 
while he wrote busily; then a dash of his pen 
proclaimed a finished task, and he lay back in 
the luxury of accomplishment. Presently he 
pushed back his chair, knocked out his pipe, re- 
filled it, and stretched himself on the sofa. After 
the day’s work came the day’s dream ; and the 
day’s dream dwelt on the coming of the evening 
hour, when Tom was to take tea with Adela 
Ferrars at half-past five. When he had an ap- 
pointment like that, it coloured his whole day, 
and made his hard labour pass lightly. Also it 
helped him to forget what there was in his own 
life and his friends’ to trouble him ; and he nursed 
with quiet patience a love that did not expect, 
that hardly hoped for, any issue. As he had 
been content to be Harry Dennison’s secretary, 
330 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


so he seemed satisfied to be an undeclared lover; 
finding enough for his modesty in what most 
men would have felt only a spur to urge them 
to press further. 

He was roused by a step on the stair. A mo- 
ment later, Harry Dennison burst into the room. 
Tom had seen him a few days before, uneasy, 
troubled, apologetic, talking of Maggie’s strange 
indisposition — she was terribly out of sorts, he 
had said, and appeared to find all company and 
all talk irksome. He had spoken with a meek 
compassion that exasperated Tom — an uncon- 
sciousness of any hardship laid on him. Tom 
sat up, glad to console him for an hour, glad, 
perhaps, of any company that would trick an 
hour into the past. But to-day Harry’s step was 
light; there was a smile on his lips, a gleam of 
hope in his eyes ; he rushed to Tom, seized his 
hand, and, before he sat down or took off his 
hat, blurted out, 

44 Tom, old boy, she wants you to come 
back ! ” 

Tom started. 

“ What ? ” he cried, 44 Mrs. Dennison wants — * 

“ Yes,” Harry went on, 44 she sent for me to- 
day and told me that she saw how I missed you, 
and that she was sorry that she had — well, sorry 
for all the trouble, you know. Then she said, 

4 1 wonder if Tom ’ (she called you Tom) 4 bears 
331 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


malice. Tell him Omofaga is quite gone, and I 
want him to come back, and if he’ll come here, 
I’ll go on my knees to him. ’ ” 

Harry stopped, smiling joyfully at his wonder- 
ful news. Tom wore a doubtful look. 

“ I can’t tell you,” said Harry, “ what it means 
to me. It’s not only your coming, old chap, 
though, heaven knows, I’m gladder of that than 
I’ve been of anything for months — but you see 
what it means, Tom? It means — why, it means 
that we’re to be as we were before that fellow 
came. Tom, she spoke to me more as she used 
to-day.” 

His voice faltered ; he spoke as an innocent 
loyal man might of a pardon from some loved, 
capricious sovereign. He had not understood 
the disfavour — he had dimly discerned inexpli- 
cable anger. Now it was past, and the sun 
shone again. Tom found himself saying, 

“ I wish there were more fellows in the world 
like you, Harry.” 

Harry’s eyes opened in momentary astonish- 
ment at the irrelevance, but he was too full of 
his news and his request to stay for wonder. 

“ You’ll come, Tom? ” he asked. “ You won’t 
refuse her ? ” 44 Could any one refuse her any- 

thing?” was what his tone said. “We want 
you, Tom,” he went on. 44 Hang it, I’ve had no 
one to speak to lately but that Cormack woman. 

332 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


I hate that woman. She’s always hinting some- 
thing — some lie or other, you know.” 

“ Don’t be too hard on little Mrs. Cormack,” 
said Tom. 

He remembered certain words which had 
shown a soft spot in Mrs. Comack’s heart. 
Harry did not know that she had grieved to 
hear him pacing up and down. 

“ You’ll come, Tom ? I know, of course, that 
you’ve a right to be angry, and to say you won’t, 
and all that. But I know you won’t do it. She’s 
not well, Tom; and I — I can’t always understand 
her. You used to understand her, Tom. She 
used to like your chaff, you know.” 

Tom would not enter on that. He pressed 
Harry’s hand, answering, 

“ Of course, I’ll come.” 

44 Bring all this with you,” cried Harry. “ I 
sha’n’t take up your time. You must stick to 
your own work as much as you like. When’ll 
you come, Tom ? ” 

44 Why, to-morrow,” said Tom Loring. 

44 Not now?” 

44 1 might, if you like,” smiled Tom. 

44 That’s right, old chap. You can send round 
for your things. Bring a bag, and come to-night. 
Your room’s there for you. I told them to keep 
it ready. Damn it, Tom, I thought things would 
come straight some day, and I kept it ready.” 

22 333 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 

Had things come straight ? Tom did not 
know. 

“ I say,” pursued Harry, “ I met Ruston to- 
day. He was very kind about my cutting the 
Omofaga. I wonder if I’ve been unjust to him ! ” 

Then Tom smiled. 

“ I shouldn't bother about that, if I were you,” 
said he. 

“Well, he’s not a thin-skinned chap, is he?” 
asked Harry, with relief. 

“ I should fancy not,” said Tom. 

“You see, he’s off in a fortnight, and I 
thought we ought to part friends. So I told 
him — well, I said, you know, that when he 
came back, we should be glad to see him.” 

Tom began to laugh. 

“You’re getting quite a diplomatist, Harry,” 
he said. 

When Harry bustled away, his high spirits 
raised higher still by Tom’s ready assent, Tom 
put on the garb of society, and took a cab to 
Adela Ferrars’. 

“She’ll be very pleased about this,” thought 
Tom, as he went along. “ It’s good news to 
take her.” 

But whatever else Tom Loring knew, it is 
certain that he was not infallible on the subject 
of women and their feelings. He recognised the 
fact (having indeed suspected it many times 
334 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


before) when Adela, on the telling of his tidings, 
flashed out in petulance, 

“ She’s sent for you back ? ” she asked ; and 
Tom nodded. 

“ And you’re going ? ” was the next quick 
question. 

“ Well, I could hardly refuse, could I ? ” 

“No; I suppose not — at least not if you’re 
Maggie Dennison’s dog, for her to drive away 
with a stick and whistle back at her pleasure.” 

Tom had been drinking tea. He set down 
the cup, and feebly stroked his thigh with his 
hand ; and he glanced at Adela (who was rattling 
the tea things) with deprecatory surprise. 

“ I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he ventured 
to remark. 

“ Oh, of course, you hadn’t. Maggie sends 
you away — you go. Maggie sends a footman 
(well, then, Harry) for you — and back you go. 
And I suppose you’ll say you’re very sorry, 
won't ^you ? and you’ll promise you won’t do it 
again, won’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t think I shall be asked to do that,” 
said Tom, speaking seriously, but showing a 
slight offence in his manner. 

“ But if she tells you to ? ” asked Adela scorn- 
fully. 

“ I didn't think you’d take it like this. Why 
shouldn’t I go back ? ” 


335 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Oh, go back ! Go back and fetch and carry 
for Maggie, and write Harry’s speeches till the 
end of the chapter. Oh, yes, go back ! ” 

Tom was puzzled. 

“ Has anything upset you to-day? ” he asked. 

“ Has anything upset me ! ” echoed Adela, 
throwing her eyes up to the ceiling. 

Tom finished his tea in a nervous gulp. 

“ I don’t see why I shouldn’t go back,” he said. 

“Well, I’m telling you to go back,” said 
Adela. “ Go back till she’s had enough of you 
again — and then be turned out again.” 

Tom’s face grew crimson. 

“At least,” he said slowly, “she has never 
spoken to me like that.” 

Adela had left the table and taken an arm- 
chair near the fire. Her back was to the door 
and her face towards Tom; she held a firescreen 
between her and him, letting the blaze burn her 
face. But Tom, being unobservant, paid no 
attention to the position of the firescreen. With 
a look of pain on his face, he took up his hat 
and rose to his feet. The meeting had been 
very different from what he had hoped. 

“ When do you go? ” she asked brusquely. 

“ To-night. I’m just going back to my rooms 
for a bag, and then I shall go. I’m sorry you 
should — I’m sorry you don’t think I’m doing 
right.” 


336 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


“It doesn’t matter two straws what I think,” 
said Adela behind the screen. 

“Ay, but it does to me,” said Tom. 

She made no answer, and he stood for a 
moment, looking uneasily at the intruding fire- 
screen. 

“Well, good-bye,” he said. 

“ Good-bye.” 

“ I shall see you soon, I hope.” 

“ If Maggie will let you come. ” 

“I don’t know,” said Tom, 4 4 what pleasure 
you find in that. It seems to me that as a 
gentleman — to say nothing of my being their 
friend — I must go back.” 

She made no retort to this, and he moved a 
step towards the door. Then he turned and 
glanced at her. She had dropped the screen 
and her eyes were fixed on the fire. He sighed, 
frowned, shrugged his shoulders, turned, and 
made for the door again. In another second he 
would have been gone, but Adela cried softly, 

44 Mr. Loring. ” 

44 Yes,” he answered, coming to a halt. 

44 Stay where you are a minute. Will you 
stay there a minute? ” 

44 An hour if you like,” said Tom. 

44 1 just want to say that — that — You’re 
coming nearer ! — I want you to stay just where 
you are.” 


337 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


Tom halted. He had, in fact, been coming 
slowly towards her. 

“ I suppose,” said Adela, in quite an indifferent 
tone, “ that you’ll settle down with the Denni- 
son’s again ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Yes; I suppose so.” 

“Do you,” said Adela, sinking far into the 
recesses of the arm-chair, and holding up the 
screen again, “ like being there better than any- 
where else ? I suppose Maggie is very charm- 
ing?” 

“ You know just what she is.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t. I’m a woman.” 

There was a long pauze. Tom felt absurd, 
standing there in the middle of the room. Sud- 
denly Adela leapt to her feet. 

“ Oh, go away ! Yes, you’re right to go back. 
Oh, yes, you’re quite right. Good-bye, Mr. 
Loring.” 

For a moment longer Tom stood still ; then 
he moved, not towards the door, but towards 
Adela. When he spoke to her it was in a husky 
voice. There were no sweet seducing tones in 
his voice. 

“There’s only one place in the world I really 
care to be,” he said. 

She did not speak. 

“Harry and Mrs. Dennison are my friends,” 
he said, “ and as long as my time’s my own, I’ll 
338 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


give it to them. But you don’t suppose I go 
there for happiness ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose you ever did anything for 
happiness,” said Adela, as though she were 
advancing a heinous charge. “ Really, nothing 
makes me so impatient as an unselfish man.” 

Tom smiled, but his smile was still a nervous 
one. Nevertheless he felt less absurd. A dis- 
tant presage of triumph stole into his mind. 

“ Don’t you want me to go ? ” he asked. 

“You may go wherever you like,” said she. 

Tom came still nearer. Adela held out her 
hand and said “ good-bye.” Tom took the hand 
and held it. 

“You see,” he said, “I didn’t think I had 
anywhere else to go. I did know a charming 
lady who was very witty and — very rich ! ” 

“ I — I’ll put some more in Omofaga and lose 
it. Oh, you are stupid, Tom ! I really thought 
I should have to ask you myself, Tom. I’d have 
done it sooner than let you go.” 

It was not, happily, in the end necessary, and 
Adele said with a sigh, 

“ I believe that I’ve something to thank Mr. 
Ruston for, after all.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“Why, he made me resolved to marry the 
man who of all the world was most unlike him.” 

“ Then I’ve something to thank him for too.” 

339 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ Tom,” she said, “ I don’t know what I said 
to you. I — I was jealous of Maggie Dennison.” 

It was later by an hour when Tom Loring 
took his way, not to his rooms for a bag, but 
straight to Curzon Street. Adela had consented 
not to wait (“ In one’s eleventh season one does 
not want to wait,” she said), and Tom considered 
that it was now hardly worth while to move. So 
he broke into Harry Dennison’s study with a 
radiant face, crying, 

“ Harry, I’m not coming to you after all, old 
fellow.” 

Harry started up in dismay, but a short ex- 
planation turned his sorrow into rejoicing. 
Again and again he shook Tom’s hand, telling 
him that the man who won a good wife won the 
greatest treasure earth could offer — and, (he 
added), “by Jove, Tom, I believe the best 
chance of heaven too,” and Tom gripped Harry’s 
hand and cleared his own throat. Then they 
both felt very much ashamed, and, by way of 
forgetting this deplorable outburst of emotion 
(which Tom felt was quite un-English, and 
smacked indeed of Mrs. Cormack), agreed to go 
upstairs and announce the news to Maggie. 

“ She’ll be delighted,” said Harry. 

Tom followed him upstairs to the drawing- 
room. Mrs. Dennison was sitting by the fire, 
doing nothing. But she sprang up when they 
340 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


came in, and advanced to meet Tom. He also 
felt like an ill-used subject as she gave him her 
hand and said, 

“ How forgiving you are, Tom ! ” 

He looked in her face, and found her smiling 
under sad eyes. And he muttered some con- 
fused words about “all that” not mattering 
“ tuppence.” And indeed Mrs. Dennison seemed 
content to take the same view, for she smiled 
again and said, 

“ Ah, well, there’s an end of it, anyhow.” 

Then Harry, who had been wondering why 
Tom delayed his tidings, burst out with them, 
and Tom added lamely, 

“ Yes, it’s true, Mrs. Dennison. So you see I 
can’t come.” 

She laughed. 

“ I must accept your excuse,” she said, and 
added a few kind words. “ As for Adela,” she 
went on, “ she’s never been to see me lately, but 
for your sake I’ll be humble and go and see her 
to-morrow.” 

Harry, as though suddenly remembering, ex- 
claimed that he must tell the children ; in fact, 
he had an idea that a man liked to talk about 
his engagement to a woman alone, and plumed 
himself on getting out of the room with some 
dexterity. So Tom and Maggie Dennison were 
left for a little while together. 

341 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


At first they talked of Adela, but it was on 
Tom’s mind to say something else, and at last 
he contrived to give it utterance. 

“ I can’t tell you,” he said, looking away from 
her, “how glad I was to get your message. 
This — this trouble — has been horrible. I know 
I behaved like a sulky fool. I was quite wrong. 
It’s awfully good of you to forget it.” 

“ Don’t talk like that,” she said in a low, slow 
voice. “ How do you think Harry’s looking ? ” 

“ Oh, better than I have seen him for a long 
time. But you’re not looking very blooming, 
Mrs. Dennison.” 

She leant forward. 

“ Do you think he’s happy, or is he worrying? 
He talks to you, you know.” 

“ I think he’s happier than he’s been for 
months.” 

She lay back with a sigh. 

“ I hope so,” she said. 

“And you? ” he asked, timidly yet urgently. 

It seemed useless to pretend complete ignor- 
ance, yet impossible to assert any lmowledge. 

“ Oh, why talk about me ? Talk about 
Adela.” 

“ I love Adela,” he said gravely, “ as I’ve 
never loved any other woman. But when I 
was a young man and came here, you were very 
kind to me. And I — no, I’ll go on now — I 
342 


THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 


looked up to you, and thought you the — the 
grandest woman I knew ; and to us young men 
you were a sort of queen. Well, I haven’t 
changed, Mrs. Dennison. I still think all that, 
and, if you ever want a friend to help you, or — 
or a servant to serve you, why, you can call 
on me.” 

She sat silent while he spoke, gazing at the 
ground in front of her. Tom grew bolder. 

“ There was one thing I came to Dieppe to 
do, but I hadn’t the courage there. I wanted to 
tell you that Harry — that Harry was worthy of 
your love. I thought — well, I’ve gone further 
than I thought I could. You know; you must 
forgive me. If there’s one thing in all the world 
that makes me feel all I ever felt for you, and 
more, it’s to see him happy again, and you here 
trying to make him. Because I know that, in a 
way, it’s difficult.” 

“Do you know?” she asked. 

“Yes, I know. And, because I know, I tell 
you that you’re a wife any man might thank God 
for.” 

Mrs. Dennison laughed; and Tom started at 
the jarring sound. Yet it was not a sound of 
mirth. 

“ You had temptations most of us haven’t — 
yes, and a nature most of us haven’t. And here 
you are. So,” — he rose from his chair and took 
343 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


her hand that drooped beside her, and bent 
his head and kissed it, — “ though I love Adela 
with all my heart, still I kiss your hand as your 
true and grateful servant, as I used to be in old 
days.” 

Tom stopped ; he had said his say, and his 
voice had grown tremulous in the saying. Yet 
he had done it ; he had told her what he felt ; 
and he prayed that it might comfort her in the 
trouble that had lined her forehead and made her 
eyes sad. 

Mrs. Dennison did not glance at him. For a 
moment she sat quite silent. Then she said, 

“ Thanks, Tom,” and pressed his hand. 

Then she suddenly sat up in her chair and held 
her hand out before her, and whispered to him 
words that he hardly heard. 

“ If you knew,” she said, “ you wouldn’t kiss it; 
you’d spit on it.” 

Tom stood, silently, suddenly, wretchedly con- 
scious that he did not know what he ought to do. 
Then he blurted out, 

“ You’ll stay with him ? ” 

“Yes, I shall stay with him,” she said, glanc- 
ing up ; and Tom seemed to see in her eyes the 
picture of the long future that her words meant. 
And he went away with his joy eclipsed. 


344 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE MOVING CAR 

In the month of June two years later, Lord 
Semingham sat on the terrace outside the draw- 
ing-room windows of his country house. By 
him sat Adela Loring, and Tom was to be seen 
a hundred yards away, smoking a pipe, and talk- 
ing to Harry Dennison. Suddenly Semingham, 
who had been reading the newspaper, broke into 
a laugh. 

44 Listen to this,” said he. 44 4 It is true that 
the vote for the Omofaga railway was carried, 
but a majority of ten is not a glorious victory, 
and there can be little doubt that the prestige 
of the Government will suffer considerably by 
such a narrow escape from defeat, and by Lord 
Detchmore’s ill-advised championship of Mr. 
Huston’s speculative schemes. Why is the 
British Government to pull the chestnuts out 
of the fire for Mr. Ruston? That is what we 
ask.’” 

Lord Semingham paused and added, 

44 They may well ask. I don’t know. Do 
you ? ” 

44 Yesterday,” observed Adela, 44 1 received a 

345 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


communication from you in your official capa- 
city. It was not a pleasant letter, Lord Sem- 
ingham.” 

“ I daresay not, madam,” said Semingham. 

“You told me that the Board regretted to 
say that, owing to unforeseen hindrances, the 
work in Omofaga had not advanced as rapidly 
as had been hoped, and that for the present 
it was considered advisable to devote all prof- 
its to the development of the Company’s terri- 
tory. You added, however, that you had the 
utmost confidence in Mr. Ruston’s zeal and 
ability, and in the ultimate success of the Com- 
pany.” 

“ Yes ; that was the circular,” said Semingham. 
“ That is, in fact, for some time likely to be the 
circular.” 

They both laughed ; then both grew grave, 
and sat silent side by side. 

The drawing-room window was thrown open, 
and Lady Semingham looked out. She held a 
letter in her hand. 

“ Oh, fancy, Adela ! ” she cried. “ Such a 
terrible thing has happened. I’ve had a letter 
from Marjory Valentine — she’s in awful grief, 
poor child.” 

“ Why, what about? ” cried Adela. 

“Poor young Walter Valentine has died of 
fever in Omofaga. He caught it at Fort Impe- 
346 


THE MOVING CAR 


rial, and he was dead in a week. Poor Lady 
Valentine ! Isn’t it sad? ” 

Adela and Semingham looked at one another. 
A moment ago they had jested on the sacrifices 
demanded by Omofaga; Semingham had seen 
in the division on the vote for the railway a de- 
lightful, extravagant burlesque on a larger stage 
of the fatefulness which he had whimsically read 
into Willie Ruston’s darling scheme. Adela had 
fallen into his mood, adducing the circular as her 
evidence. They were taken at their word in 
grim earnest. Omofaga claimed real tears, as 
though in conscious malice it had set itself to 
outplay them at their sport. 

“ You don’t say anything, Alfred,” complained 
little Lady Semingham from the window. 

“ What is there to say ? ” asked he, spreading 
out his hands. 

“ The only son of his mother, and she is a 
widow,” whispered Adela, gazing away over the 
sunny meadows. 

Bessie Semingham looked at the pair for an in- 
stant, vaguely dissatisfied with their want of dem- 
onstrativeness. There seemed, as Alfred said, very 
little to say ; it was so sad that there ought to have 
been more to say. But she could think of nothing 
herself, so, in her pretty little lisp, she repeated, 

“How sad for poor Lady Valentine!” and 

slowly shut the window. 

347 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


“ He was a bright boy, with the makings of a 
man in him,” said Semingham. 

Adela nodded, and for a long while neither 
spoke again. Then Semingham, with the air of 
a man who seeks relief from sad thoughts which 
cannot alter sadder facts, asked, 

“ Where are the Dennison’s ? ” 

“ She went for a walk by herself, but I think 
she’s come back and gone for a stroll with Tom 
and Harry.” As she spoke, she looked up and 
caught a puzzled look in Semingham’s eye. 
“Yes,” she went on in quick understanding. 
“ I don’t quite understand her either.” 

“ But what do you think ? ” he asked, in his 
insatiable curiosity that no other feeling could 
altogether master. 

“ I don’t want to think about it,” said Adela. 
“ But, yes, I’ll tell you, if you like. She isn’t 
happy.” 

“No. I could tell you that,” said he. 

“But Harry is happy. Lord Semingham, 
when I see her with him — her sweetness and 
kindness to him — I wonder.” 

This time it was Semingham who nodded si- 
lent assent. 

“And,” said Adela, with a glance of what 
seemed like defiance, “ I pray.” 

“You’re a good woman, Adela,” said he. 

“ He sees no change in her, or he sees a change 
348 


THE MOVING CAR 

that makes him love her more. Surely, surely, 
some day, Lord Semingham — ? ” 

She broke off, leaving her hope unexpressed, 
but a faint smile on her face told of it. 

“It may be— some day,” he said, as though 
he hardly hoped. Then, with one of his quick 
retreats, he took refuge in asking, “ Are you 
happy with your husband, Adela ? I hope to 
goodness you are.” 

“Perfectly,” she answered, with a bright pass- 
ing smile. 

“But you get no dividends,” he suggested, 
raising his brows. 

“ No; no dividends,” said she. “ No more do 
you.” 

“No; but we shall.” 

“ I suppose we shall.” 

“ He’ll pull us through.” 

“ I wish he’d never been born,” cried Adela. 

“ Perhaps. Since he has, I shall keep my eye 
on him.” 

From the shrubbery at the side of the lawn, 
Maggie Dennison came out. She was leaning 
on her husband’s arm, and Tom Loring walked 
with them. A minute later they had heard 
from Adela the news of the ending of young Sir 
Walter’s life and hopes. 

“ Good God ! ” cried Harry Dennison in grief. 

They sat down and began to talk sadly of the 
28 349 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


lost boy. Only Maggie Dennison said nothing. 
Her eyes were fixed on the sky, and she seemed 
hardly to hear. Yet Adela, stealing a glance at 
her, saw her clenched hand quiver. 

“ Do you remember,” asked Semingham, “ how 
at Dieppe Bessie would have it that the little 
red crosses were tombstones ? She was quite 
pleased with the idea.” 

“Yes; and how horrified the old Baron was,” 
said Adela. 

“ Both he and Walter gone ! ” mused Harry 
Dennison. 

“Well, the omen is fulfilled now,” said Tom 
Loring. “ Ruston need not fear for himself.” 

Harry Dennison turned a sudden, uneasy 
glance upon his wife. She looked up and met it 
with a calm, sad smile. 

“ He was a brave boy,” she said. “ Mr. Rus- 
ton will be very sorry.” She rose and laid her 
hand on her husband’s arm. “ Come, Harry,” 
she said, “ we’ll walk again.” 

He rose and gave her his arm. She paused, 
glancing from one to the other of the group. 

“You musn’t think he won’t be sorry,” she 
said pleadingly. 

Then she pressed her husband’s arm and 
walked away with him. They passed again into 
the fringing shrubbery and were lost to view. 
Tom Loring did not go with them this time, 
350 


THE MOVING CAR 


but sat down by his wife’s side. For a while no 
one spoke. Then Adela said softly, 

“ She knows him better than we do. I sup- 
pose he will be sorry. Will he be sorry for Mar- 
jory too ? ” 

“ If he thinks of her,” said Semingham. 

“ Yes — if he thinks of her.” 

Semingham lit a cigarette and watched the 
smoke curl skywards. 

“ Some of us are bruised,” said he, 44 and some 
of us are broken.” 

44 Not beyond cure ? ” Adela beseeched, touch- 
ing his arm. 

44 God knows,” said he with a shrug. 

44 Not beyond cure ? ” she said again, insisting. 

44 1 hope not, my dear,” said Tom Loring 
gently. 

4 4 Bruised or broken — bruised or broken ! ” 
mused Semingham, watching his smoke-rings. 
44 But the car moves on, eh, Adela ? ” 

44 Yes, the car moves on,” said she. 

44 And I don’t know,” said Tom Loring, “that 
I’d care to be the god who sits in it.” 

While Maggie Dennison walked with Harry 
in the shrubbery, and the group on the terrace 
talked of the god in the car, on the other side of 
the world a man sat looking out of a window 
under a new-risen sun. Presently his eyes 
351 


THE GOD IN THE CAR 


dropped, and they fell on a wooden cross that 
stood below the window. A cheap wreath of 
artificial flowers decked it — a wreath one of Rus- 
ton’s company had carried over seas from the 
grave of his dead wife, and had brought out of 
his treasures to honour young Sir Walter’s grave; 
because he and they all had loved the boy. And, 
as Maggie Dennison had said, Ruston also was 
sorry. His eyes dwelt on the cross, while he 
seemed to hear again Walter’s merry laugh 
and confident ringing tones, and to see his 
brave lithe figure as he sprang on his horse and 
cantered ahead of the party, eager for the road, 
or the sport, ay, or the fight. For a moment 
Willie Ruston’s head fell, then he got up — the 
cross had sent his thoughts back to the far-off 
land he had left. He walked across the little 
square room to an iron-bound box ; unlocking it, 
he searched amid a pile of papers and found a 
woman’s letter. He began to read it, but, when 
he had read but half, he laid it gently down 
again among the papers and closed and locked 
the box. His face was white and set, his eyes 
gleamed as if in anger. Suddenly he muttered 
to himself, 

“ I loved that boy. I never thought of it kill- 
ing him.” 

And on thought of the boy came another, and 
for an instant the stern mouth quivered, and he 
352 


THE MOVING CAR 


half-turned towards the box again. Then he 
jerked his head, muttering again ; yet his face 
was softer, till a heavy frown grew upon it, and 
he pressed his hand for the shortest moment to 
his eyes. 

It was over — over, though it was to come 
again. Treading heavily on the floor — there was 
no lightness left in his step — he reached the 
door, and found a dozen mounted men waiting 
for him, and a horse held for him. He looked 
round on the men; they were fine fellows, tall 
and stalwart, ready for anything. Slowly a 
smile broke on his face, an unmirthful smile, that 
lasted but till he had said, 

“ Well, boys, we must teach these fellows a 
little lesson to-day.” 

His followers laughed and joked, but none 
joined him where he rode at their head. The 
chief was a man to follow, not to ride with, 
they said, half in liking, half in dislike, wholly 
in trust and deference. Yet in old days he had 
been good to ride with too. 

The car was moving on. Maybe Tom Loring 
was not very wrong, when he said that he would 
not care to be the man who sat in it. 

THE END. 


353 










DiV. 






